


Everything Was Beautiful and Nothing Hurt

by pushingcrazies



Series: Movie Night AU [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 82,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3664038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushingcrazies/pseuds/pushingcrazies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I look at you sometimes...and I get a funny feeling that you're just full of secrets." - Slaughter-House Five by Kurt Vonnegut</p><p>Secrets are revealed, bonds are formed, and gaps are bridged when Dawn finally gets tired of being lied to by the Scoobies in this post-"The Gift" fixit fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cordelia's Chapter

**Author's Note:**

> Rating, pairings, and focus to change on a chapterly basis. The only guaranteed ships are the ones tagged. I'll tag anything needs to be so in the chapter notes as I go.
> 
> This chapter's pairings: none  
> This chapter's rating: Teen  
> Warnings: None
> 
> And lastly a massive massive THANK YOU to KiranInBlue for beta'ing, encouraging, and basically inventing this whole AU with me.

In three moments, her entire life changed.

In the space of less than three seconds - three fractions of one second per moment - everything Cordelia Chase knew to be right and whole in the universe disappeared. One blink of her eyes was all it took. One blink and one teenage girl walking into the Hyperion’s lobby.

Moment one: she was not even conscious of it but up to that point she would have said with complete certainty that Buffy Summers was an only child with the spoiled attitude to prove it.

Moment two: the girl - the shifting axis - the certain knowledge that the only thing she was certain about was that nothing in her life was certain anymore.

Moment three: Dawn. Buffy’s little sister, with the radiant smile and annoying crush on Xander. Part of Cordelia felt silly for not recognising her at first.

But most of her was chasing down the first moment, that tingle of knowledge fleeing from her consciousness like the remnants of a fuzzy doze-dream.

“Dawn?” Wesley’s voice cut through Cordelia’s trance, snapping her back into the present. He stepped out of his office to meet Dawn in the lobby. Cordelia rose to her feet, at a rare loss for words. “What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”

“Is Angel here?” Dawn’s eyes wandered past Wesley to meet Cordelia’s. She remembered how Dawn had always looked up to her for being popular and sarcastic, though envious of the whole Xander Harris-related momentary lapse in sanity. Jealousy aside, though, Dawn would naturally look to Cordy over the ex-Watcher against whom she still held a shadow of a grudge. “I was hoping to talk to him.”

“He’s not here,” Cordelia told her, stepping around the front counter to stand next to Wesley. “He’s on a spiritual journey or...something. He wasn’t exactly forthcoming.”

Dawn’s shoulders slumped visibly. “When is he supposed to get back?”

“Don’t know,” Cordelia said. “He’s been gone ever since-”

“For a few weeks now,” Wes interrupted with a meaningful glance at Dawn that even a toddler could have interpreted correctly.

“Since Buffy died, you mean,” Dawn said, staring Wesley down. Cordelia had to hand it to her - she certainly had the typical Summers tolerance for bullshit.

“Way to go, Captain Subtle,” Cordelia murmured.

Wesley flushed and opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by Gunn clattering down the stairs. “Man, I swear that girl gets wei- oh, hey,” he said as he caught sight of Dawn. “We got a case?”

“I’ll say,” Cordelia answered, not taking her eyes off of Dawn and crossing her arms over her chest. “A case of ‘how did a fifteen-year-old girl get to L.A. from Sunnydale all on her own?’”

Cordelia could practically see the wheels turning in Dawn’s mind as she worked out which lie - if any - Cordy would believe. “I drove here with a close friend or relative who is at least 18 years old and has had their driver’s license for over a year?”

“Uh huh. Friend got a name? And a car?”

“Matt. He’s a Senior and...he’s got a cousin in L.A. He said he’d drop me off for a couple of hours while they hang out,” Dawn said quickly. Cordelia was impressed with how authentic it sounded, and how quickly she’d been able to make it up off the top of her head. Probably wasn’t entirely a lie, even - she’d bet Dawn knew a Senior named Matt with a cousin in L.A. “He drives a pickup truck.”

“So if I go outside right now,” Cordelia said, “I won’t find Xander’s piece of shit car parked down the block?”

“Go check if you don’t believe me,” Dawn said hotly, and for a moment Cordelia caught a glimpse of what she herself must have been like at that age - and god did she want to slap her.

“Fine,” Cordelia said, heading for the door.

“Okay, okay...okay, wait,” Dawn said, grabbing Cordelia’s arm to stop her before she could take more than a few steps. “I borrowed Xander’s car. Without his permission. But I had to see Angel.”

Wesley frowned. “Why? Is something the matter?”

Cordelia barely managed to keep from rolling her eyes. What a stupid question - Buffy was dead. Of course everything was the matter.

Dawn flung herself onto one of the lobby’s circular couches. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Wesley sat down next to her, the very picture of an understanding and trustworthy uncle figure of the “tattle on you as soon as you turn your back” variety. “But Angel would? I’m sure if you tell me what is troubling you, we can -”

“Oh no,” Cordelia interrupted, grabbing Wesley and hauling him back to his feet. “We are not doing this. You are driving Xander’s car back to Sunnydale, and I’m following in Angel’s car so I can drive you back.” Her eyes settled back on Dawn. “You’re with me.”

“I have to drive all the way to Sunnydale by myself?” Wesley spluttered. “Anyway, don’t you think it would be more of a punishment to make Dawn ride with you in Xander’s car and I take Angel’s?”

“No,” Cordelia said in a tone that brooked no argument. She wanted to get Dawn alone, talk to her without the boys’ prying eyes - and maybe hopefully lose that nagging feeling of the not-memory that hovered just out of reach. “If you’re afraid you’ll get lonely, take Gunn.”

Gunn came closer, a frown creasing his brow. “What about Fred? We can’t just leave her on her own.”

Cordelia could feel a headache brewing in her temple - luckily just a run-of-the-mill headache, not anything of mystical origin. “Figure it out or don’t, I don’t give a f-.” Stopped; took a calming breath. “See if I care if Xander never gets his car back. In the meantime, I’ll be taking the delinquent back to Sunnydale.” She gestured for Dawn to follow her.

“No,” Dawn said, sinking further into the couch and crossing her arms. “Not until I see Angel. I don’t believe that he’s not here.”

“Quite frankly, I don’t care what you believe,” Cordelia said. A soft sound on the staircase told her that the ruckus had drawn Fred out of her room. “Do you really think you can out-stubborn me?” Without looking away from Dawn, Cordelia raised her voice. “Fred, get some shoes on. We’re going on a road trip.”

“Oh, I...I don’t know. Maybe I should, um, stay here and hold down the fort,” Fred started to say, edging her way back upstairs.

Cordelia just barely managed to suppress a sigh. Used to be she could get dozens of people vying to do her will - hell, not even a month ago she’d been in charge of an entire realm. Now, she had four people arguing with her at every turn and all she wanted to do was return Dawn to where she belonged and get everything in its proper order. “Fred, shoes. Dawn, keys. Wesley, if I have to go back to Sunnydale for the first time in two years, then you better believe I’m dragging you down with me. Gunn -” Well, actually, Gunn was the only person who didn’t need ordering around right now, but if she didn’t treat him the same way, she would only encounter more resistance. “Make sure they do as I say. I’ll be waiting out in Angel’s car.” She headed out the back way, where the Chevy was parked not far away. “You’ve got five minutes,” she called out behind her.

Precisely six minutes later, a very surly Dawn jerked open the passenger side door and climbed in. “Can we put the top down, at least?”

Cordelia’s only answer was to start the engine. Let Dawn assume no top down was just part of her punishment if she wanted, but the truth was once they got up to highway speeds, Cordelia wanted to be able to talk, and that was rather difficult when the wind was well over 70 miles per hour and drowning out your voice.

They rode in silence as Cordelia made her way towards the northbound highway. Dawn could not have picked a worse time - it was the height of rush hour (more like hours, really, since it lasted from 4 PM to 7 PM if not longer), and they would be lucky to make it to Sunnydale by 8. Of course, maybe that had been part of her plan - whatever plan it was she had in mind. Cordelia flipped on the radio.

Out of the hotel and into the bright evening sun, Cordelia felt more steady, more sure of herself. The momentary glitch with Dawn had been just a symptom of some aberration. Maybe she wasn’t getting enough vitamin D. She’d read that people who lived where there wasn’t a lot of sun tended to be a little bonkers. Maybe that explained some of Angel’s...tendencies. She could try mixing some vitamin D pills into his blood, once he got back from whatever spiritual mumbo jumbo he was currently immersing himself in. Did vampires absorb vitamins from their victims’ blood? Did pig blood have any vitamin D in it in the first place?

A little way outside the city limits, traffic gradually began to lighten until Cordelia at last was able to push the speedometer up to the speed limit - and then just a little bit past. Not enough to make herself an obvious cop-target, but just enough that she did not feel confined by the rest of traffic. Beside her, Dawn let out an almost-inaudible sigh.

Cordelia wasn’t sure she was quite ready for this - this moment of parental responsibility or whatever the hell she was supposed to be doing. But if not her, then who? She turned down the music - not all the way off, but enough that it became background noise. “You know, if I weren’t so pissed off, I’d be impressed. At your age, I wouldn’t dream of stealing a car and driving to L.A.” _Buffy probably would, though_ , she did not say. Hell, at Dawn’s age, Buffy had been burning down school gymnasiums and learning about her “true destiny” or something. What good was a true destiny if all it meant was a lonely life and an early death?

“Why are you angry?” Dawn asked, trying out a cheeky smile. Cordelia had forgotten how quickly the kid could go from surly to sunny without a break in between. “Why not just be impressed?”

“Because now you’ve gone and made me have to pretend to be responsible.” Cordelia tsked mockingly. “So, since you are wasting precious minutes of my youth and dragging me to a place I swore I would never set foot in again, you’re gonna tell me what the hell you were thinking.”

Cordelia spared a glance at Dawn’s face. Surly again, but this time mixed with wistfulness and relief. Like she was glad someone was forcing her to talk, but resentful of herself and Cordelia at the same time. “I guess I wasn’t.”

“Nuh uh. Not gonna buy that. It’s bullshit and you know it.” Cordelia adjusted her hands on the steering wheel. “Why did you want to see Angel?”

Dawn fiddled with something Cordelia could not see. “I wanted to talk to someone who would listen to me. And not patronize me,” she added with a pointed glare at Cordelia.

“Honey, if you think this is patronizing you, you definitely don’t know me.”

“No,” Dawn conceded. “But you are treating me like a child.”

“Because you’re acting like one,” and holy shit did those words actually come out of her mouth? She literally was her own mother right now. She tried to shake it off. “Now Wesley has to drive a car for three hours that may have been reported as stolen, and how do you think Xander and the others are going to feel when they realise you’ve gone missing too?”

Dawn looked sharply out the window.

“Oh? What was that?” Cordelia asked, taking her eyes off the road as long as she dared. “Is that what the is about? You’re not getting enough attention, so you’re gonna make sure all the focus is on you?”

“Shut up,” Dawn snapped. “You don’t understand ‘cause you’re not there. You don’t know what it’s like to be, like, always surrounded by people but completely alone. They might as well not be there.”

Cordelia’s mind flashed to Angel last year and then further back to high school. She knew the feeling exactly, she wanted to say, but that wasn’t the point. “You mean the Scoobies?”

“Yeah. Willow and Tara live at the house now, and Anya and Xander are over, like, all the time, but they’re so absorbed in whatever they’re doing. I think they’re up to something, but I can’t find out what. I think WIllow is using some spells to hide it from me.” Dawn’s scowl deepened. “And every week or so we have this mandatory movie night bullshit -” she faltered slightly as though expecting Cordelia to tell her off for swearing, but when Cordy said nothing, she plunged on “- and god forbid any of us try to skip out on it, because it’s all for me and pretending we’re one big happy family and that we all don’t miss Buffy but she’s never coming back because she’s dead!” Dawn’s voice broke with a sob.

Cordelia did not reply. Dawn wasn’t finished, not by a long shot.

“But they smile and laugh and I have to pretend I don’t see the pain and resentment in their eyes, wishing they could be normal 20-year-olds, just like you said. Hating me because I make them have to be more mature and responsible.”

_They don’t hate you_ , Cordelia thought. _They hate Buffy for leaving you - all of you._

“I wish they’d all just go away, but they won’t, so I...so I did.”

Cordelia was silent for a moment longer, just in case there was more, but nothing was forthcoming. “What about Giles?” Warm, paternal, caring - if a bit distant and, well, British - Giles…. Where did he fit in with this?

“He can’t stand to be in the United States anymore, not without her. He’s going back to England as soon as he can. He can barely look me in the eye.”

Cordelia wasn’t sure what to say to that. It made sense - almost too much sense. “Well -”

“On movie night, the only person who doesn’t want to obvious be somewhere else is Spike,” Dawn burst out.

“Spike?” Cordelia’s foot slipped off the accelerator and she nearly swerved in surprise. “Spike?? As in - as in _Spike_? What the fu- what the hell is he doing coming around for movie night and how - oh my god, does he come into your _house_?”

Dawn’s mouth contorted as she silently berated herself. “I didn’t mean to tell you about that,” she said. “You made me talk about it. Please don’t tell Angel about Spike. He’s good now. Well, sort of. He’s good to me, at least. He only comes around for movie night because they won’t let him hang out any other time. I wish they would, though,” she added in a quieter tone. “He’s the only one who gives a crap about me.”

“That’s not true,” Cordelia said automatically. Dawn snorted in disbelief. Okay, that was fair - Cordelia didn’t know the whole situation. Hell, she didn’t even know Tara except for what limited information Willow had given her when they talked on the phone. But she knew Willow and she knew Xander - had known them for almost as long as she could remember. “Willow is one of the most genuine people I’ve ever known. She’s grieving. They’re all grieving - including you. So, yeah, things suck right now but it’s only temporary.”

“That’s your advice? That ‘it’s gonna get better but I just have to give it time’ crap?” Dawn demanded.

Cordelia huffed. “And, what - you thought Angel would be able to do better?”

Dawn turned her face away, staring out the passenger side window. “Angel wouldn’t have made me talk about it at all.”

“Hm. That’s true; avoidism is his favourite pastime.”

Dawn smiled but did not turn back to face her. The silence grew, but it was not uncomfortable. After a few minutes, Cordelia turned the volume back up on the radio. If they were lucky, this station would follow them all the way to Sunnydale. There was more she ought to say to Dawn, but the conversation had run its course. At least she had been able to provide a place for Dawn to vent about her so-called guardians or whatever they were supposed to be. Maybe next time Dawn felt the need to lash out against them, she would pick up the phone instead of Xander’s spare car key.

And not force Cordelia to drive over 100 miles to a place she had hoped never to see again.

Well, no - -that wasn’t precisely true. She had vague dreams about when she became rich and famous she would go back and be so kind to all her loving, adoring fans - posing for photos, kissing babies, donating money to local charities. And rubbing it all in the former Scoobies’ collective face that she had become Someone while they still piddled away in a Nothing town like Sunnydale. Of course, she’d be really nice about rubbing it in so that they would still adore her with a huge dash of jealousy mixed in for taste.

But even when the fame and glory hadn’t kicked in right away, she had a vague notion of going back someday. One thing after another happened, though, and eventually it just seemed easier to tell herself she never wanted to go back. She didn’t have any friends left in Sunnydale, not since Harmony had gotten all bumpyface. Plus there was the added joy of the visions. The last thing she needed was for anyone from back home witnessing her having one.

Going back to Sunnydale now - even just for the half hour it would take to drive to the Summers house, wait for the others to show up, and leave - brought out a mess of emotions that were difficult to sort through. Add on top of that the weirdness vibe Cordelia had gotten off of Dawn earlier, and the strange novelty of being an adult giving advice to a wayward teen...it was all too bizarre and Cordelia was happy to ignore everything in a wave of pop music.

After a few minutes, Cordelia began humming along. Beside her, Dawn mouthed the words. Soon they were belting out the lyrics at the top of their voices, heedless of how good or bad they sounded. Cordelia struggled to remember the last time she had done something like this. Warbling “We Are the Champions” with Gunn and Wes didn’t count - they’d been completely blitzed at the time, and upset about Angel. This...this was almost normal enough that she could pretend they were just two girls on a road trip, adventure just ahead or maybe just behind.

It didn’t last - the feeling. It never did, these days. By the time they hit the Sunnydale exit off the freeway, Cordelia and Dawn were both silent again, absorbed in their own thoughts. Getting to 1630 Revello Drive was more instinct - muscle memory she thought had been forgotten long ago - than conscious thought. Nothing had changed. Cordelia wanted to see a landscape crying out in her absence, but there was just this: patchy green lawns, abandoned toys, more stop signs than streetlights, the heavy weight of summer pressing down on its residents.

The idea of dropping Dawn a block away from her house and waiting for the others without going inside was tempting, but beside her, Cordelia could feel Dawn’s misery growing until it practically radiated from her skin. If this was what being a responsible adult felt like, Cordelia didn’t want it. By the time she pulled up in front of the Summers’ residence - if it could even be called that anymore with just one Summers still living there - her heart was beating too fast, like she had just come face to face with a Lei-Ach demon. “Ready to face them?” she asked, half hoping Dawn would say no so that Cordy could push her own uncertainty aside in favour of playing the heartless enforcer.

“Let’s get this over with,” Dawn muttered, snapping open the passenger door. Well, of course a blatant challenge of nerves worked too. Cordelia pulled the keys out of the ignition, automatically checking her side mirror for any passing traffic before opening the door, though this time of night in Suburbia was unlikely to see a whole lot of cars, even in summer. Dawn had a head start but she was dawdling while trying to look like she wasn’t; Cordelia had the advantage of a longer stride and fiercer determination. They hit the porch at the same time.

The door flew open before they even reached it. Out came a fluttery mess of dark blonde hair and flowy clothes, which immediately attached itself to Dawn. Cordelia stepped back, barely avoiding an arm to her side. “Where have you been?” the girl-tornado demanded, hugging Dawn close. “We were so worried about you. Where did you go?”

For the first time all night, Dawn looked ashamed of her actions. “I needed to get out of here for a while.”

The young woman - Tara, Cordelia assumed - pulled Dawn back to arm’s length. “You’re too young to go running off on your own like that. Especially since you only just got your learner’s permit. You’re really lucky you didn’t get a ticket or crash or -” Tara seemed to notice Cordelia for the first time, and then the Impala sitting out on the street. “Wh-where is X-Xander’s car?” she asked, not sure who to direct her question towards.

“It’s on its way,” Cordelia assured her. “My friend Wesley is bringing it along. They should be here soon. I brought the Impala so we’d have a way of getting home again after we dropped Dawn off.”

Tara frowned. “Th-thank you. Um…?” Her voice died away, the question unasked, unneeded.

“Oh! I’m Cordelia. Cordelia Chase.”

“Cor-Cordelia?” Tara’s eyes flashed with recognition and then anger as she rounded on Dawn again. “ _L.A_? You went to L.A.? In _Xander’s car_? Were you _trying_ to get stranded in the middle of nowhere?”

“No,” Dawn exclaimed. “I made sure I had enough gas, and his car does okay at highway speeds. Usually.” She put on her most helpless puppy look. “I’m sorry. I really am, but I just…” she looked at Cordelia, silently pleading for support.

Cordelia was almost ready to take pity on her. “Maybe we should take this inside. I’ve busted her ass pretty well already.”

Tara led the way into the house. It was exactly like Cordelia remembered, yet nothing was the same. Family photos hung on the wall, furniture arranged in the same patterns, the soft buzz of electronics. But the feel was completely alien. Cordelia breathed in and it was like breathing molasses: heavy and overpowering. She wondered when was the last time someone had laughed genuinely and spontaneously within these walls.

“I’ll c-call the others,” Tara said. “They’re out l-looking for you. Inc-including Giles, but we didn’t tell him you’d st-stolen the car. F-figured it was b-best not to worry him too m-mu-much.”

Dawn blushed and glared at her. “Stop trying to make me feel guilty.”

Tara picked up the phone, a small smile playing on her lips. “Why? Is it working?”

Dawn flung herself onto the couch as dramatically as she could. Admittedly, there was a lot more of her to fling around these days, and that definitely added to the dramatic factor. “I’m gonna get chewed out so badly,” she muttered to Cordelia.

It was probably true. The Scooby Gang was a bunch of mother hens - provided you were one of them, of course. Dawn would probably be hearing about this stunt for a long time to come. Cordelia decided not to press the issue, opting instead to focus on something else. “Did you guys finally join the 21st century and get cell phones?”

“Nope. We’re still firmly rooted in 20th century pagers,” Dawn said. Tara had wandered away from the living room as she dialled. Cordelia, unsure if she would be staying longer, opted not to sit down next to Dawn on the couch. Sitting in the car for three hours had made her legs stiffen up.

“Figures. Not that cells do us much good half the time we use them,” Cordelia said. The number of times somebody had missed an important message because Angel couldn’t operate his voicemail or Wesley was out of service range or Gunn didn’t have reception in the bowels of some abandoned building was ludicrous. She was pretty sure Angel hadn’t even bothered taking his mobile with him on his trip. “Still, it’s not entirely about how useful they are. More like the idea that we are always reachable within a moment’s notice. It’s good for business.”

That piqued Dawn’s interest enough that she forgot she was supposed to be moping. “What’s it like being a private investigator?”

“Truthfully? It’s a lot of waiting around for a client to walk in, or doing research, or pursuing dead ends. But when the pieces fall together or you kick a serious baddie’s ass or you help someone who thought they were beyond help, it’s the most amazing feeling in the world,” Cordelia said. Realising how corny (how Angel-esque) that sounded, she added, “Other than getting a nice big paycheque, that is.”

“And then going on a massive shopping spree?” Dawn asked, a glint in her eyes.

Cordelia looked down at her clothes. “Actually, Angel bought these for me.” She had forgotten she was wearing one of the nicest outfits he had picked out, but now - remembering that - she couldn’t help the smile that crept over her lips. She only wore this particular outfit when she was certain there would be no chance of demon goo ruining it.

“Angel did?” Dawn repeated.

“Long story. It doesn’t…” Her voice trailed off as Tara came back into the room. “Did you get ahold of them?”

Tara nodded, replacing the phone in its cradle. “They’re c-coming back now. They’re glad you’re safe and made it home okay.”

Cordelia glanced out the window. If Wesley didn’t show up before the Scoobies, they would want to know why Cordelia was there and not Xander’s car. Dusk had settled in the sky, which was rapidly becoming darker. Wesley couldn’t be that much further behind her, could he? Even if he did drive like an old lady….

She could leave. It wouldn’t be that difficult to wait for her friends down the street a bit or at Sunnydale’s only diner. If Tara planned on keeping quiet about Dawn’s excursion this afternoon, then Cordelia’s presence would ruin that. She could call Gunn’s mobile, pray that he had reception, have them meet her somewhere else, and leave the car for Xander to pick up in the morning.

There was just one problem with that idea: Cordelia Chase did not back down from a challenge. And that was exactly what this was: a challenge against her own insecurity, against the others’ indifference towards her after she and Xander broke up, against the memory of Buffy that was suffocating this house.

Dawn looked up at her, as if she knew what she was thinking. “Please don’t leave,” she whispered.

Cordelia raised an eyebrow. “If you think I’m gonna be on your side, you are so wrong. Personally, I don’t think you’re too old for a spanking.”

Dawn looked away. “Fine. Whatever. Go away and see if I care.”

Cordelia mentally kicked herself. After that talk in the car, here she was doing exactly what the other Scoobies had been doing all summer: looking for the first opportunity to run away. She nudged Dawn’s leg to get her to scoot over, then sat down beside her on the couch. She could do this - for Dawn and for herself, she would do this. “Don’t even think it. I am not going to miss out on the chance to see Xander turn all purple and huffy. It’s one of the things I’ve really missed about home.”

“D-do you want something to drink?” Tara asked. “Or eat? W-we usually order pizza or Ch-Chinese food on Thursdays.”

“No, I’m fine. Dawn told me you guys do a movie night on Thursdays?”

Tara nodded, ducking her head. “It w-was my id-d-dea. It’s n-nice to get everyone together and be normal one n-night a week.”

Normal. What was that like? “It sounds... nice.”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “You went to L.A. to become an actress? No wonder you ended up as a private investigator.”

A car rolled past, its headlights flashing through the window. Cordelia craned her neck to look outside, but the car did not stop or slow down. Some other person on their way to Elsewhere. Down the street, however, the lights illuminated several recognisable figures, among them…

“The hell?” Cordelia leaped to her feet, unable to help herself. She knelt on the couch, peering out the window, certain that her eyes were playing tricks on her. “What the hell is going on here?”

Dawn scrambled up beside her. “Tara, they’ve got it with them.”

Behind them, Tara was stammering out something that was nearly incoherent; from what little Cordelia could understand, Tara had forgotten they took it - whatever it was supposed to be - with them, and that it had wanted to help when it heard that Dawn had gone missing.

“It’s Buffy,” Cordelia said, cutting her off.

“It’s a robot Buffy,” Dawn said. “Long story. But it’s really helpful as long as, you know, nobody who knows Buffy is actually dead finds out about it.”

Cordelia stared at her. Even with everything Dawn had told her, she would never have expected anything of this magnitude. A robotic Buffy to...to what, exactly? She was suddenly fervently, glad Angel was not here to see this. It would break him. “You maybe couldn’t have warned me that you have some - some MechaBuffy running around town?” she snapped over her shoulder.

“Don’t yell at Tara,” Dawn said fiercely.

Cordelia was about to say exactly what she thought of Tara and the whole Scooby Gang right at that moment, but before she got the chance (and probably thereby ruining any fragile trust she had built with Dawn over the course of the evening), Tara darted outside to meet the others as they came up the walk. They could not hear what was said, but Tara was gesturing towards the house, and the others were squinting through the glare coming through the living room window to search out Cordelia. Xander made several exaggerated movements at the street - probably inquiring as to the whereabouts of his car. A disinterested Spike pushed past Tara to enter the house as Tara made a few more placating gestures.

“Nibblet! You gave us a bit of a fright, didn’t you?” In spite of his words, he was grinning as though this was the best joke he’d heard in a long time. “Stealing the ape’s car was a bloody brilliant touch.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Willow said. Apparently the conversation on the sidewalk had broken up and now the others came filing in. Cordelia caught a glimpse of Giles ushering the not-Buffy around the corner and out of sight. Thank the PTB - she wasn’t sure she could have handled seeing it up close. “Cordelia! Wow, you look great.” Which was a remarkable observation, given that her eyes were focused a good two feet to Cordelia’s right.

That was okay, though. Cordy could do fake with the best of them. “Thanks! You do too. Congratulations on finally picking up a fashion magazine for the first time in your life.”

It was like slipping into an old and familiar dress, or sinking into a hot bath at the end of a rough day. Her old high school persona was an old friend - one more piece of nostalgia on this trip down memory lane. Willow’s smile slipped; Cordelia ignored the twinge of guilt that plucked at her heart.

“And here we were all scared that L.A. would change you,” Xander said, rolling his eyes. The living room was full of people now, too many. Xander, Willow, Anya, Dawn, Giles, and Tara where Oz once might have stood - just like high school. And Spike (not so much like high school but there nonetheless and just as nerve-grating as she remembered). All talking at once, jostling and admonishing - mostly at Dawn, but also at each other. And then there was her, Cordelia. Not exactly unwanted, but not terribly wanted either. Never quite belonging.

But that was okay because she did belong somewhere now. The sound of a car engine on its last legs cut through everyone’s chatter, and they all looked at the open door. Xander practically leapt over Willow to get outside to his precious baby. “If you really wanted to do us a favour, you would have driven it into the ocean so we could report it stolen and collected the insurance money,” Anya told Dawn. 

Dawn giggled. 

“I was being serious,” Anya said.

Cordelia did not point out that no sane insurance company would give them more than $100 for Xander’s car, especially not in Sunnydale. She edged past Dawn to stand in the foyer, hoping that Wesley wouldn’t feel the need to stick around all that long. Pop in, say hello, maybe exchange a few pleasantries, and then out again.

“-thing I said in highschool about you. You took good care of my baby. I won’t forget that,” Xander was saying as he ushered Wesley inside. Wesley had a vaguely bewildered expression on his face.

“And Dawn?” Wesley asked.

“What about her?” Xander said.

“I helped protect her as well.” Wesley raised an eyebrow. Behind them, Gunn seemed to be having a hard time not busting out laughing.

“Oh. Well, yeah, of course. But Dawn can take care of herself, and my-”

“She cannot,” Willow cried.

“I can too,” Dawn said.

And with that everyone was talking again. Cordelia edged over to Fred, who was standing miserable off to the side, fingers in her ears. Cordelia tried to get Wesley’s attention, but he was saying something to Giles now, and god that was always a bad idea, the two of them saying pretty much anything in each other’s general vicinity. Even Gunn was getting caught up, arguing about how he had been able to take care of himself at a way earlier age than Dawn currently was. Now wasn’t that just a shining example of a well-adjusted adult?

Fred took a finger out of one of her ears. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“Don’t apologise,” Cordelia said. “These idiots can be overwhelming even to those of us who haven’t lived in a cave the last five years. You might wanna cover your ears again.” Fred obeyed. “Hey,” Cordelia yelled at the room. “Shut up!”

Everybody turned to stare at her. Cordelia yelling was hardly a novel experience; nor was her telling them to shut up. But her standing partially between everyone and a frightened young woman as if shielding her...well, that was definitely not something they were used to seeing.

“Look, you guys have your issues to deal with. Nothing new there. But they don’t concern us, so we’re just gonna…” She jerked her thumb towards the door. Behind her, Fred flinched slightly.

Wesley’s face softened when he saw that. “Ah, yes, of course. You’re absolutely right.” He turned back to Giles. “Mr. Giles, always a...pleasure.”

“Indeed,” Giles said. It was hard to say if the twist in his expression was amusement or scorn.

There was a general rustling, beneath which Cordelia could hear Gunn’s horrified “Oh my god, there’s actually someone just as English as Wes.”

“Aren’t you guys gonna stay for the movie, though?” Dawn asked, her eyes hopeful.

“If you think we’re still going to have movie night after the stunt you pulled, you have another think coming, missy,” Willow said.

“We’re cancelling the movie?” Xander asked, crestfallen. “But I already picked up Charlie’s Angels from Blockbuster. This morning, before...you know, Dawn stole my car and everything.” He wagged his finger at Willow. “A creative crime needs a more creative punishment, like...she can watch the movie but only the scenes with Bill Murray. Or she can watch it but sitting facing the window so everything is backwards.”

There was a slight hush as everyone processed these words. “Well, I’m very glad to see that Dawn has landed in a stable and nurturing household, but it’s getting late. We’d better go,” Cordelia said.

“They promised me In-n-Out burgers if I came along,” Fred said, fingers still stuffed in her ears.

“And you dragged the crazy girl along why?” Anya asked in a voice that she probably meant to be a whisper but was loud and clear to everyone in the room, possibly including Fred, though she showed no outward sign of having heard.

Cordelia flashed her best I-don’t-have-time-for-this-stupidity grin. “Long story, doesn’t matter. Wes-”

“Wait,” Dawn said, pushing past Gunn to grab Cordelia’s arm. “It would mean a lot to me if you stayed.”

Cordelia pulled Dawn slightly into the dining room so that they were shielded from the others slightly. “I know this whole thing sucks,” she said in an undertone. “You have to make nice and pretend like you don’t hate everyone here’s guts. I know the feeling, believe me. But my first responsibility is to my coworkers right now.”

“But what if -”

“Ooooooh,” Fred cried, dodging nimbly into the living room. She had finally lowered her fingers from her ears and was holding the rental VHS case in her hands. “Charlie’s Angels? Like as in the television show? When did they make it into a movie?”

“Uh, last year?” Xander said, frowning at her. “Kind of a big deal and everything? It just came out on tape not that long ago. Have you been living under a rock?”

“No, a cave,” Fred said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She looked up at Cordelia, who had come to see what the fuss was about. “Can we watch it with them? I want to see the movie.”

Cordelia hesitated. This was a massive step for Fred, and if it worked, that would be amazing. But if it backfired, it could lead to weeks of her not leaving her room anymore. “But what about burgers?”

Fred frowned, thinking it over. “I don’t suppose they’ve started delivering in the last five years?”

“No, they haven’t, but the pizzeria still does,” Xander informed her. “Pizza trumps burgers any day.”

“Careful, she’s from Texas,” Gunn said. “They tend to be serious about their beef down there.”

“I don’t think pizza trumps burgers,” Fred said very gravely. “But I’m willing to settle for it.”

Cordelia shot a look at Wesley. “Your call,” he mouthed at her. Great, of course it was. This whole adventure had been her call from the start. She wasn’t supposed to be the leader here.

“Hey, what’s with all the - the assuming we’re still watching the movie?” Willow asked.

“I think we should,” Tara said quietly. “We’re not going to forget about it, a-and there will definitely be some punishment, but not that.”

Willow frowned, like she wanted to say something but was holding back. “Fine. How many pizzas are we gonna need?”

Cordelia sighed. “I guess we’re staying then. But I’ll warn you - Fred can eat a lot. Better err on the side of caution.”

Everyone looked at Gunn. “What’re y’all looking at me for?”

“Oh! Goodness, I forgot. Everyone, this is Charles Gunn,” Wesley said. He pointed at Fred. “And that is Winifred Burkle - Fred. Guys, these are Giles, Xander, Willow, Dawn, and, um… I’m terribly sorry, I don’t seem to recall your name,” he said to Anya.

“Anya,” Xander supplied. “And that’s Tara. Everyone is pleased to meet everyone else. Now let’s order us some pizza.”

“I’ll g-get some chairs from the dining room,” Tara said.

“Would you all like something to drink?” Giles asked.

Everyone began moving around, getting movie supplies and rearranging furniture. Gunn raised an eyebrow when Giles brought him a glass of soda. “This is pretty cush,” he muttered to Cordelia. “Why’d you leave this place again?”

Cordelia glared at him. “It’s not all pizza and movies, you know. There’s also the imminent danger and terrifying monsters and rebars through abdomens.”

“Yeah but you get all that in L.A. too.”

“But L.A. has better shops,” Cordelia said.

Gunn laughed and went over to make sure Fred was doing okay. The woman was still standing in the middle of the room while everyone moved around her. He led her to the loveseat and gently pried the VHS out of her hands.

Cordelia sat down on the larger couch. Dawn plopped down next to her. “Thank you soooo much,” she said. “I’m so glad you decided to stay.”

“It’s not going to fix anything,” Cordelia said. “You still have to talk to them.”

“I will,” Dawn said, her eyes wide with false honesty. “I promise.”

Everyone gradually filed back into the living room, taking seats wherever there was room. Wesley somehow managed to squish himself into the love seat with Gunn and Fred, while Willow and Tara joined Cordelia and Dawn on the couch. Giles took the armchair, leaving Spike, Anya, and Xander to make do with a couple of chairs from the dining room. The pizza was on its way. It almost felt like a normal night amongst friends, getting ready to watch a cheesy movie and pig out on greasy food.

For a while, Cordelia lost herself in the normalcy of it all. The pizza arrived at last, and she welcomed it with a grumbly stomach. The movie was hilarious, though partly because the action was ridiculous compared to what they all experienced on a near-nightly basis. Even Cordelia could have laid out the baddie quicker than these three so-called angels.

After a while, Cordelia noticed there was more wiggle room on the couch, and had been for a few minutes. She also realised Fred had passed in front of the screen to go to the bathroom a while ago and not come back. She glanced around, but everyone else was absorbed in the movie. Easing herself up out of the couch, Cordelia made like she was heading for the bathroom. It was wide open and dark. She tried the kitchen next, but there was no sign of Fred there either. Cordelia felt a jolt of adrenaline. She didn’t think Fred would run out into the night or anything, but this was Sunnydale. It tended to make everyone a little loopy...and someone who was already loopy might do something really stupid.

A noise from the dining room attracted her attention. “That better be Fred, so help me,” Cordelia whispered to no one in particular as she headed for the door connecting the two rooms.

It was. Fred had crawled under the dining room table and was talking animatedly - though quietly - to Tara, who was crouched in front of her. Both women looked up at her approach. Fred smiled ruefully. “Hey, Cordelia. Guess I wasn’t as ready as I thought.”

“Movie not as good as you hoped?” Cordelia asked.

“Somethin’ like that.”

“Fred w-was just telling m-me how you guys s-s-saved her from - what was it called?”

“Pylea.” Fred frowned. “You weren’t stuttering a minute ago when you were talkin’ just to me. You shouldn’t be scared of Cordy, she’s not gonna hurt you or anythin’.”

Tara turned bright red, though she smiled reassuringly. “I kn-now she won’t.”

Cordelia wondered exactly what sort of stories Tara had heard about her from the Scoobies. She was certain they wouldn’t be intentionally malicious, but there was the small fact that Cordelia had bullied and teased Willow for the first ten years they’d known each other. Two years of semi-friendship didn’t negate all that time. “Want me to stick around?” Cordelia asked Fred. “There are only so many gratuitous ass-shots I can take in two hours.”

“If you want, but you don’t gotta sit on the floor,” Fred told her. “Though I don’t think I want to talk about Pylea anymore.”

“That’s too bad,” Cordelia said with mock regret. “That place had a pretty good ruler from what I hear.”

Seeing Tara’s quizzical look, Fred said, “They made Cordy their princess.”

“Oh.” Tara’s eyes went wide. “Sh-should I call you Y-your Highness?”

It took Cordelia a moment before she realised Tara was joking. She laughed. “No, I only make my underlings call me that. Everyone else can just call me Princess Cordelia.”

“I’ll k-keep that in mind,” Tara said, smiling.

Cordelia stretched. “If you’re okay, I think I’m going to go back to the movie. I think I’m having withdrawals from not seeing Lucy Liu’s ass for the last five minutes.”

“Okay, Cordy,” Fred chirped. Fred bonding with a person who didn’t work for Angel Investigations was huge. Cordelia didn’t want to interrupt it, and she definitely felt that Tara would be more than equal to navigating the tricky waters that were Fred’s mind.

Before she left them, though, she leaned down and whispered in Tara’s ear, “I don’t know what you guys are up to, but Dawnie is suspicious. It’s why she wanted to talk to Angel tonight. I hope you know what you’re doing. And for the love of everything, _talk_ to her.” She left without waiting for or expecting a reply.

The movie ended, the credits rolled. Empty pizza boxes were tossed unceremoniously into the recycle bin, and popcorn bags stuffed into the trash. Glasses sat everywhere, with varying amounts of liquid still in them. Wesley had a little bit of drool crusted to his chin from when he had fallen asleep shortly after Fred’s disappearing act. Handshakes and hugs were exchanged - some more genuine than others. Dawn squeezed Cordelia tight, whispering, “You’ll come back, right? Next week you’ll come watch the movie again so I don’t have to be alone? And the others too if they want?”

“We’ll see,” Cordelia said, leery of making any promise she wasn’t sure she would keep.

But the strange thing was, as they drove into the warm summer night, it didn’t feel like an ending. It felt like a beginning.


	2. Angel's Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pairings: Tara/Willow, Angel/Buffy (past)  
> This chapter's rating: Teen  
> Warnings: None

A single scent can evoke an entire lifetime of memories. And when you’re 240 years old, that can be a lot of memories all compressed into one microsecond of a sniff.

It’s a good thing vampires don’t need to breathe.

Angel knows that if he were to breathe in right now, he would be flooded with all sorts of memory-triggering scents, so he studiously does not give in to the instinctual desire to do so. It’s almost kind of funny how vampires, who have no dependency on respiration, use scent as a large part of their hunting for prey.

Funny-ironic, that is, not funny-haha.

“Are you okay?” Cordelia whispered.

“I’m fine,” Angel insisted, knowing full well he wasn’t fooling her. “Do I not look fine?”

“You look like you’re about to rip your own kneecaps off. Vampire or not, you might need those in the future,” Cordelia said.

Angel glanced down at his hands, which were currently clamped fast to his knees, his posture rigid and uncomfortable. He consciously forced his hands to relax, though his back still remained ramrod straight. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I guess I wasn’t really anticipating you to have become bosom buddies with the Scoobies again.”

“I told you, it wasn’t exactly intentional.” Was that hurt that he heard in her voice? Was she offended or just wary of his emotions right now?

Angel attempted to relax another inch or two. On his other side, Dawn chattered at Gunn about some silly thing she and her friends had done at the mall last weekend. Wesley and Giles were nearby, discussing some ancient text or maybe a new flavour of ice cream - it was hard to tell. Fred was...gone. A jolt of adrenaline hit Angel - not as strong as if he were a human with his heart pumping it straight to the necessary zones, but still pretty hefty - and he jolted forward, ready to leap to his feet.

“Easy there, soldier,” Cordelia said, laying a hand on his arm.

“Fred…” Angel started.

“Is probably with Tara somewhere. Relax,” Cordelia said.

Right. Tara. Willow’s girlfriend. Angel tried to organise everything he had learned on the ride to Sunnydale. About Dawn, about the Scoobies being up to something suspicious, about the whole movie night charade, about Fred’s obvious attachment to gentle, open Tara - all of which had started while Angel had been away in Sri Lanka. Six days out of the week, the crew at Angel Investigations could not persuade Fred to come out of her room for so much as a quiet meal among friends, but every Thursday like clockwork, she would come bounding down the stairs of her own volition, fully dressed, ready to make the long trek to Sunnydale just to watch some cheesy movie just released at Blockbuster.

Angel hadn’t been able to believe his eyes when he saw it happen earlier. He’d only been back for two days and was worrying about how he was going to convince Fred to come out of her room again after their little setback, when she had appeared before them, proudly announcing that she was wearing shoes and it was time to go, please.

Everyone was so apologetic towards Angel, assuring him that they had simply forgotten it was Thursday - apparently the night they went to Sunnydale every week as long as there was not a case. They would have preferred to give him some advance warning, etc, etc.

Wesley said they didn’t have to go this week; it wasn’t too late to call the Scoobies and say they had a last-minute case. The heartbreak on Fred’s face negated that idea, however. Cordelia said that if Angel wanted to stay home, she would stay with him, but that seemed like a lonely and unappealing choice. He had spent too much time being lonely in the last three months - in his whole lifetime - and he wanted to be with his friends right now.

Or so he thought.

He wasn’t sure what was putting him on edge. Maybe it was the way everyone had been so surprised and obviously uncomfortable to see him, but oh-so sympathetic and careful not to say Buffy’s name while still referring to her obliquely. Maybe it was the fact that Spike was lounging in the doorway, smirking at him as he munched on some tortilla chips. The damn bastard didn’t even need to eat, why the hell was he doing so, and so loudly? Maybe it was because he had to fight to control his own instincts, though that was hardly a novel experience. Maybe it was how everything - and everyone - in his immediate life had changed, seemingly overnight.

Maybe he was just missing home.

He’d never had a home before, not really. Not even here in Sunnydale. He’d always felt separate, apart, not quite belonging. He’d had Buffy, yes. But that had been tenuous and fleeting. The feeling he’d had when he walked back into the Hyperion, though...seeing his friends, getting back into the normal routines (more or less), talking to Fred. He had missed all of it, while he was away. For the first time in 240 years he had felt a sense of belonging, like he had finally come home.

“Kneecaps,” Cordelia hissed at him.

Angel rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest instead. “Better?”

“Much better,” Cordelia said. “Now instead of uncomfortable and unapproachable, you look angry and unapproachable.”

Angel uncrossed his arms, trying to loosen the muscles in his shoulders. “Do you actually have fun when you come here?” he asked her. She was the only one not mingling with the Scoobies, and he hoped it didn’t have anything to do with keeping him company.

“Yeah, I do,” she admitted quietly. “At first it was just for Dawn, you know, because she was having a rough time, but after a couple of weeks it was nice to forget everything and just relax for one night a week, away from home and everything. Not having people tiptoe around me because of the you-know-whats.”

“They don’t know?” Angel asked.

“No, and I plan to keep it that way. The last thing I need is these losers pitying me.” The insult came out as part joking, part knee-jerk reaction, and part term of affection. This wasn’t Queen C passing down judgement of her lessers, but rather just Cordy being Cordy. Angel smiled to hear the playfulness in her voice. “You really didn’t have to come, you know. I wouldn’t have minded staying with you at the hotel, or we could have gone to my place and watched a movie with Dennis. I think he’s a little jealous that he can’t come with us.”

“I’m fine,” Angel said.

“Trust me,” Cordelia said in an undertone. “I know what you’re feeling right now. I felt it the first time I came back here, too.”

Angel wanted to ask her what she meant by that, what emotions could have caused that slight tremor in her voice as she admitted this to him, but he wasn’t in the mood for a deep heart-to-heart with her. Especially so soon after the last one – though admittedly she had been doing most of the hearting at that time. “I don’t think it quite compares.”

“Maybe not,” Cordelia allowed. “Do you want to go for a walk? Get some fresh air?”

“Vampires don’t need fresh air,” Angel reminded her.

Cordelia gave him a look that plainly said “that’s not what I meant and you knew it.” “Tara’s been keeping up Mrs. Summers’ garden as much as she can. It’s not as pretty in the dark as it is at sunset, but you can still see how much effort she’s put into it. I think Dawnie helps out too.”

Dawn looked over at them at the sound of her name. “What?”

Cordelia glanced at Angel, silently nudging him to answer her. “Cordelia was just telling me all the work you’d been doing in the garden,” Angel said. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Cordelia watching him with a strange, unidentifiable look on her face. She’d been watching him all evening, but the only time she gave him this look was when he spoke to Dawn. He wasn’t sure what the look was supposed to mean - he wasn’t even sure if Cordy knew she was doing it. Maybe it had something to do with how Dawn had come looking for him so many weeks before.

“Do you want to see it?” Dawn asked, excitement written all over her face. “I’m not as good as Mom was, and the rhododendrons look a little sick but Tara thinks we’ve been over-watering them. Or maybe under-watering them. We’re not sure yet.”

“We have achieved corn poppage,” Xander announced as he walked into the living room, preventing Angel from having to respond to Dawn. It wasn’t that Angel did not want to spend time with her, but it was a little unnerving how readily she had forgiven him after everything that had transpired between Angel and her sister. She was young and resilient, and willing to give the wrong people the benefit of the doubt. Case in point being Spike. Honestly, what the hell was he doing here?

Dawn dove for the large bowl of popcorn, her offer to show Angel the garden apparently forgotten. Angel automatically grabbed a handful, then stared at the little buttery yellow puffs as if he could not remember what to do with them.

“Pizza’s not going to be for another fifteen minutes,” Xander said. “Apparently we’ve started some sort of pizza-eating trend on Thursday nights. Either that or everyone else in this town finally realised there’s nothing else to do around here.”

Angel let the familiar casual banter wash over him, not really paying it any attention. He smiled, made the right noises when appropriate, but his mind refused to process and retain the words for longer than a few seconds. It was all the same as it had been two years ago, and yet everything was changed.

Or was it he who had changed?

Cordelia snaked a few pieces of popcorn from his hand. He wasn’t sure why he was still holding onto them. “Here,” he muttered, thrusting the remainder at her, which she accepted, though not without a token protest. Mumbling some excuse, he slipped away, making like he was heading for the kitchen. Without looking, he knew that Spike was following him at a discreet distance. Now was not the right time for the coming confrontation. They were under a tenuous truce for now, but it would not last. It was only a matter of time before everything blew up.

But in the meantime, at least, Angel knew he stood the best chance of losing him in the kitchen, where chaos reigned. Several of the Scoobies had congregated therein, including Tara, which meant Fred was in there too, munching on some bright orange cheesy snacks. Something eased in Angel’s chest to see her relaxed and apparently enjoying herself, though she had wedged herself into a corner and was mostly hidden behind Tara. Fred’s face light up when she caught sight of Angel.

He made a beeline for her. “Everything alright?”

“Yup,” Fred said brightly. “We were just talking about the solar neutrino problem and how the missing neutrinos might be a result of fluctuations in the electromagnetic fields that are caused when dimensions shift, and may be directly affected by - oh, are those Milanos?”

Without even missing a beat, Tara glanced over her shoulder to locate the bag in question and handed it to Fred, accepting the bowl of orange puffs in exchange.

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” Angel told Fred sincerely. Behind him, he could hear Spike get roped into a conversation with Anya and Willow. “I just wanted to check in and make sure you’re doing okay.”

“Oh, I’m great,” Fred burbled. Tara nibbled shyly on a cheese puff. It was difficult for Angel to imagine this quiet girl being any sort of match for Fred’s strange and overwhelming enthusiasm, but Cordelia had told him how the two bonded almost instantly. And frankly, Angel felt a certain amount of admiration for someone who could be so calm and steady in such a chaotic household.

Angel smiled at both of them. “Good. Have fun.” With Spike still occupied, Angel managed to slip out again, this time unpursued. He made his way into a room that had no people in it, without any real idea of where he was going. He let his feet carry him where they pleased, wandering automatically through the rooms he knew so well. It was hard to believe how much time had passed since the last time he had been here.

He circled around the whole house, walking silently so as not to draw any attention to himself. He found himself at the foot of the staircase. Nobody in the living room was paying any attention to him; they would not notice if he went upstairs. Besides, it wasn’t like upstairs was some sort of forbidden area. He was perfectly at liberty to go up there if he so chose.

So why did he feel like he was breaking some sort of unspoken rule?

His tread made no sound as he climbed to the second floor. To his right was Joyce’s old bedroom, which he knew Tara and Willow had taken over when they moved in. Straight ahead was Dawn’s room, and if he walked down the short hallway to his left just a bit…

He crossed the space without a conscious thought, without even realising he was doing it until he already had. His hand rested on the doorknob, but he did not turn it. He did not know why he hesitated. He was not sure which would break his heart more: to find the room bare and empty or to find it had not changed at all.

There was only one way to find out. He opened the door.

It was exactly as he remembered it. In fact, if he didn’t know any better, Angel would have sworn it was still being lived in. There were paper and books and clothes scattered everywhere, and the bedsheets were rumpled. He entered the room fully, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The sounds of the others downstairs, already muffled by distance, were now all but cut off - for just a moment he could pretend he was all alone, surrounded by the very core of Buffy’s existence. He closed his eyes, relaxed his shoulders, and finally allowed himself to do the very thing he had been fighting all evening.

He inhaled.

He inhaled and he remembered.

He could feel her hair between his fingers, her body against his. He could hear her voice sharp and sarcastic or sweet and loving. He could taste her lips, her breath, her skin. And her smell...oh, how he remembered her smell. Sweet and cool, with a slightly-irritating chemical undertone thanks to all the products she used. Cordelia had that same chemical bitterness that clung to her, though less and less these days. He wasn’t sure if she was using fewer products because she didn’t have the time, or if she had just found better brands. If Buffy were here right now, would they be comparing beauty secrets?

That was stupid. If Buffy were here right now, Cordelia wouldn’t be. None of them would. Besides, even when they both lived in Sunnydale and were more or less friends, they hadn’t exactly been the sort to gossip about hair and makeup together.

He wondered what Buffy would think of the new Cordelia, the Cordelia he had come to think of as his best friend.

He sat down on the edge of the messy bed, smoothing out the sheets a little. A strange metallic scent tickled his nose; he couldn’t imagine what might be causing it, but it clung to everything in the room. He could ask Willow about it, but it didn’t seem all that important. She had enough to deal with at the moment, and he wasn’t sure he wanted anyone knowing he’d been up here.

“Angel?”

Angel jumped up, startled. He hadn’t heard Fred coming down the hallway, which was amazing, given his enhanced senses. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh...yeah. Pizza’s here and Cordy said we should find you so we can start the movie. You do still wanna watch, doncha?” Fred asked. Her eyes were fixed on him, but he could tell she was taking in her surroundings in that subtle, observant way she had picked up as a runaway in Pylea. He wondered how much she knew about...well, everything.

“Yeah, I was just...I’ll be right down. They can start without me,” Angel said.

“I can stay with you, if you want,” Fred offered.

Angel smiled slightly at her. She really was a sweet girl. “No, I’ll be right behind you. Tell Cordy to save me a seat if she can.”

Fred nodded and started to leave, but paused. “Maybe she’s not as far away as you think.”

Angel frowned. “Cordelia?”

Fred shook her head, smiling mysteriously, but did not elaborate. In a flash she was gone - down the hallway and back to the living room. With the bedroom door open again, Angel could hear the others once more. Everyone had gathered in the living room, it seemed, and were just waiting on him to get started.

As he left the room, he pulled the door shut behind him, whispering, “Goodbye, Buffy,” as he did so.

\--- _Three Weeks Later_ \---

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” Wesley said.

It must have been the tenth time he had said this in the last two hours. Angel happened to agree with him, but the repetition was starting to grate on his last nerve.

“Tough titties,” Cordelia said. “That’s what you get for putting it up to a vote.”

“Yes, this is all quite my fault,” Wesley said sarcastically, glaring meaningfully at Gunn.

“Don’t look at me, bro,” Gunn said. “I happen to think Cordelia is right. Something fishy is happening here. Cancelling movie night once is no big deal, but twice in a row?”

“I agree, it is very peculiar,” Wesley said. “But that doesn’t mean we need to go rushing over at the first sign of something unusual.”

“We’re private investigators,” Cordelia said. “That is literally our job description: we see something weird, we rush right in.”

“Hey guys,” Angel interrupted. “Isn’t this kind of a conspicuous place to be having this discussion?”

They were sitting in his car, which was parked outside the Summers residence. From the outside, nothing looked wrong. There were lights on inside, and the drive through town hadn’t yielded any screaming people or obvious signs of destruction or mayhem. Somewhere down the street a dog barked. The sun had almost fully set, and Angel would be glad to stop having to hunker down in the backseat between Cordelia and Fred, a blanket over his head and shoulders for protection.

“Yeah, so let’s move it,” Cordelia said, shaking Wesley’s seat to get him to exit first. Sighing loudly, Wesley unbuckled his seatbelt and reluctantly opened his door. On the passenger’s side, Gunn was already out on the sidewalk and adjusting his seat forward so Fred could climb out.

Wesley waited for Cordelia to get out of the car, then stuck his head into the back to address Angel. “I thought you were in agreement with me.”

“I am,” Angel insisted, gathering the blanket more securely around him. The shadows on the street were long, but he was not willing to take any chances. “But now that we’re here there isn’t much point in putting up a fuss. Better just get it over with.”

“I’m not fussing,” Wesley protested, but Angel was already easing out of the passenger side door for a shorter dash to the Summers’ front porch. Wesley turned his attention back to Cordelia. “These are our friends, not clients. Shouldn’t we respect their privacy?”

“Privacy schmivacy,” Cordelia said. “They’d do the same thing to us and you know it. They’re just as nosy as we are. And if they didn’t want us sticking our noses in the middle of their business, they’d come up with a better excuse than ‘oh we’re really busy, sorry.’”

“That wasn’t exactly –“

“We’re really doing this out of compassion. We’re worried that something dreadful has happened. I mean this town is on a Hellmouth – who knows what new horror may have sprung up this week?”

“Or maybe they’re just tired of having to pretend they weren’t happy to finally be rid of you when you moved to L.A.,” Wesley snapped.

“Guys!” Angel said. They were starting to edge into bad territory. Making sure the blanket covered any inch of bare skin, Angel made a short run to the house. Behind him, Gunn closed and locked the passenger door before joining him and the others on the porch. From inside the house came the sound of voices, muffled even to Angel’s sharper hearing. Still, there did not seem to be any sign of impending doom. He lowered the blanket, folding it into a neat square.

“I just know this is all about to blow up in our faces,” Wesley groused.

“Get over yourself,” Cordelia said, pushing past Angel to knock sharply on the door.

The voices inside hushed instantly. There was a shuffling, a quick argument, and then -

“Ka-boom,” Gunn muttered helpfully.

If Angel’s heart still worked, it would have stopped in that moment. Any number of things he might have expected to encounter on the other side of this door, never would he have imagined…

“Buffy?”

She definitely looked like Buffy, but there was something...changed about her. She smelled of damp earth and…

Angel thought he might be sick.

“Oh no,” Cordelia murmured. She also looked like she might be sick, but her eyes were focused on Angel, not on the spectre before them. “I should have mentioned this. I just didn’t want to…. See, a while back, Spike -”

“Spike?” Angel snapped, holding on to the name like an electrified lifeline. The old rivalry, the old hatred boiled up inside, distracting him from the strange twisting in his chest. “What does Spike have to do with this?”

“No,” the vision before them interjected. “I’m not...I’m me. I’m really me. Not the robot.”

“Robot?” Now Angel was more confused than ever. Behind him, his friends were whispering to each other, relaying information necessary for all of them to understand exactly what was happening here. Behind Buffy also was a flurry of activity as her friends pushed into the foyer to see what was causing the fuss.

“You’re...really Buffy? As in…?” Cordelia floundered, unsure of how to phrase what she was thinking.

“In the flesh,” Buffy said, a wry smile contorting her lips. There was something bitter and dull in her eyes that prevented the smile from reaching them fully. “In the resurrected flesh, I guess I should say. What are you guys doing here?”

“We’re here for the, er...the movie,” Wesley said.

Buffy gave him a strange look. “Movie?”

“Buffy, maybe we should-” Willow started to say.

“We need to talk,” Angel blurted out. His brain was just beginning to recover from the shock, and everything he wanted to do right now boiled down to one simple thing: talk to Buffy somewhere private.

Something like relief washed over Buffy’s face as if that was exactly what she had been waiting for. “Let’s go,” she said, grabbing the pair of sneakers she kept by the front door for emergencies. Angel turned, snatched the car keys from Wesley’s limp hand, and shoved the folded blanket into his arms. The sun was low enough now he didn’t need it anymore.

“We’ll just, uh...wait here, then,” Cordelia called after him. Angel ignored her, unlocking the passenger door before going around and getting into the driver’s seat.

They did not speak as Angel started the engine and pulled away from the curb. He had no real idea where he was heading. He aimed vaguely for the direction of the highway, hoping something would strike him before they ended up all the way back in L.A. His thoughts were muddled, churning rapidly with no clear results. Buffy, here. Buffy, alive. It wasn’t exactly outside the realm of possibility; if anyone would know that, it was him. What bothered him was not so much the “how” or the “why,” but the “what now?”

“Turn left at the next stop sign,” Buffy said so quietly Angel would have missed it without his enhanced hearing.

He followed her directions as she guided him beyond the outskirts of town, avoiding the highway and taking backroads until they reached a quiet place not far from the desert. It was probably beautiful in the early morning or late evening when the sun was low and the sky bursting with colour. Now, in the darkness it felt ominous and mournful.

Buffy got out of the car and walked out past the road to where several rocks loomed. She did not look at him but instead focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He followed behind, not really sure why she had chosen this place, why they had even needed to leave her house at all. They could have talked just as easily in her room or gone for a walk around the block.

She paused by one of the larger rocks, reached out to touch it. She ran her fingers over the bumps as if reading a secret braille only she understood. Angel approached cautiously, unsure if his movements would startle her.

“Willow?” he asked. It wasn’t a full question - it was barely a full thought - but there was only one possible meaning.

“Willow, Tara, Xander, and Anya,” Buffy said, still not meeting his gaze. “But mostly Willow, from what I gather.”

“I never would have expected…” That was a lie, he knew even as he said it. This was the girl whose first spell was to restore his soul - not exactly some small feat. “She’s come a long way.”

The words sounded hollow, trite - like he was reading off a script written by the world’s most cliche fledgling writer. But what was there to say? He wanted to talk, but his thoughts failed him. He grasped at something - anything - that could get Buffy to just finally look at him. “Why did you say you’re not a robot?” he blurted out, suddenly remembering. “And what did Spike have to do with it?” And what did Cordelia have to do with it? he wondered, but did not ask.

“Spike met a guy who could make really lifelike robots - I mean really lifelike. Good enough to pass for a person if you don’t want some seedier characters knowing that person went and died,” Buffy told the rock.

“So he asked this guy to make a replica of you so the others could pretend the Slayer was still around to protect Sunnydale?” Angel asked, bemused. Something wasn’t quite clicking.

“More or less,” Buffy said.

Angel scowled. He was missing something, but Buffy didn’t seem to be in any hurry to hand over the pieces needed to solve the puzzle. “I get why they’d do that,” he said. “With Faith still in jail, if word spread that there was no Slayer to protect humanity, things could have gotten ugly pretty quickly. But there was a funeral and everything - how did none of the demons hear about it?”

“Did you go?” Buffy asked, finally looking up at him. There was something cold in her gaze, not exactly accusatory but certainly not open and friendly. “Did you go to my funeral?”

It was Angel’s turn to look away. “We were out of town on a case. We didn’t hear about...we didn’t know until we got back.” Willow had been trying to get in contact with them, and when that failed she had finally driven out to L.A. to wait for them. He remembered her puffy eyes and the strong smell of tears and grief that enveloped her. They had listened as she explained everything - or as much as she could. Cordelia had sat there in her uncomfortable princess outfit, drawing further and further into herself, until Willow finished - at which point she disappeared into Wesley’s office to change. When she returned, her eyes were noticeably red and her voice sounded raw. Gunn had slung a comforting arm around Wesley’s shoulders without really knowing why his friend was so devastated. And Angel…

Angel had managed to hold himself together for two days before he couldn’t take it anymore and he left for the first destination that came to mind.

“We missed the funeral,” he repeated, “but we did mourn.”

Buffy looked at the rock again. Whatever answer she had been looking for, that wasn’t it. She paced restlessly a few steps away and then back again. “Do you remember much? From when you…?”

Angel shook his head, watching her carefully. “Not much. Enough, I suppose. But the details have faded.”

“Vampires have longer memories than humans,” Buffy said, mostly to herself. “I’ll probably forget even quicker.”

“Do you remember much?” Angel asked.

“Almost nothing,” Buffy said, starting to move away again

Angel walked after her, overtaking and standing in front of her, and - after only the slightest hesitation - pulled Buffy into a tight embrace. He didn’t know what had happened to her, but that was probably for the best. All he could do for her right now was offer whatever she was willing to take.

She did not cry, but she did return his embrace, squeezing him tighter than he had expected. It felt good - it felt solid. He breathed in automatically, taking in her scent. It was so different, yet beneath everything was still the same Buffyness that she would always retain.

After several long moments, they drew apart again. “I just have one question for you, and you have to answer with one hundred percent honesty,” Buffy said to him. “What is it really like working with Cordelia?”

Angel laughed softly. Their moment was over, it seemed, and Buffy looked like she was returning to her old self. “It’s great,” he told her.

Buffy gave him an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Wesley too. They can get a little out-of-hand sometimes, but I hear I’m not exactly the best coworker in the world either.”

“I’m shocked,” Buffy said playfully.

“You really look it.” There was a comfortable lull for a moment as Angel studied her and she pretended he wasn’t. “I love you.” She looked at him warily, not sure what to expect from that statement. “I want you to know that. I love you, and I always will.”

“But?”

“I used to think that you were my only reason for still existing. I’m starting to realise maybe that’s not true.”

Buffy smiled. “I’m glad. Everyone needs more than one reason for existing.” He put an arm around her, and she leaned in close. “I love you, too.”

They stood like that for a long time, neither very willing to move. At last, Buffy sighed. “I suppose we should get back. The others will be worrying. Everyone’s been so careful not to upset me.”

“We could stop at Blockbuster on the way,” Angel said. “We did come all this way for a movie and pizza.”

“Dawn has school tomorrow,” Buffy said. “Starting a movie this late is probably a bad idea.”

“And now that 35-year-old Buffy has had her say, what does 20-year-old Buffy think?”

Buffy grinned at him. “Blockbuster it is.”


	3. Jonathan's Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pairings: Tara/Willow, Anya/Xander (implied/background)  
> This chapter's rating: Teen  
> Warnings: None

Jonathan could feel the power flowing from his hands into the crystal as he manipulated the energies around him, trying to produce the desired results. If all went well, he would have the catalyst necessary for the group’s shrink ray. Unfortunately, so far, it did not appear to be going well at all. The crystal had too many flaws and was actively fighting the power Jonathan was trying to pour into it. He tightened his grip on the crystal and his control on the flow of energy in an attempt to use one of the flaws to his advantage. If he could just adjust it ever so slightly to - 

“Aren’t you done yet?”

The crystal shattered.

Warren sighed pointedly, as if Jonathan had screwed up on purpose. “Way to go, Butterfingers. Do you know how much trouble I went to to get that specific kind of crystal for you?”

Jonathan swept the crystal fragments into a neat pile on his desk, glad he had chosen to wear goggles. “Maybe you should have went to a bit more trouble,” he muttered, examining a few of the larger fragments. When he had lost control of the energy, it had overwhelmed the crystal and literally torn it apart. Frankly, he was lucky that was the only backlash and nothing even more catastrophic had happened.

Warren glared. “Oh, I’m sorry. Have I not lived up to Your Majesty’s standards? Consider this humble servant duly chastised.” He swept his arms out and gave a mocking bow.

Jonathan lowered his goggles, turning to face Warren directly. “Face it: your stupid ‘source’ for magic supplies sucks. He may know what he’s doing with your electronic sh-shit, but he knows nothing about magic.” He winced at the slight stumble. He wanted to sound suave and collected, not like a bumbling teenager swearing for the first time. “Or else he’s selling you bad stuff on purpose because you wouldn’t know the difference.”

“Or maybe you just aren’t as great as you said you are,” Warren said. “I bet there’s someone else in this town who could do it with no problem.”

But nobody else willing to put up with your obnoxiousness, Jonathan thought. It wasn’t worth it to argue with him. “Where’s Andrew?” he asked instead.

“How would I know?” Warren reached around Jonathan to pick up some crystal fragments. He made a face. “I’m not his keeper.”

“I want another vote. We need him here.”

“Vote about what?” Warren asked. Then realisation dawned. “No. Absolutely not,” he snapped. “We already agreed that it’s a really bad idea. Do you want to get caught? Go to jail? Or worse, get killed by the Slayer?”

“Yeah I know we agreed, but that was before I knew you wouldn’t be able to get me the stuff I need. How are we supposed to take over Sunnydale without the proper materials? Mr. Giles only sells quality products and he would never suspect me. None of them would.”

Warren grabbed Jonathan’s shoulder hard enough to hurt him. “No fucking way. You are not going to The Magic Box and buying stuff there that could be traced back to us. I forbid it.”

Jonathan wrenched out of Warren’s grip, ignoring the pain that shot through his shoulder. “You can’t forbid me from doing anything; I’m not Andrew,” he snapped.

“What about me?”

Warren and Jonathan’s heads jerked around simultaneously. Andrew came down the stairs into the basement, chewing on some red licorice and carrying a plastic shopping bag with what looked like several comic books. “Hey, I was just at the comic book store to get the new Amazing Spider-Man. Who wants to read it after me?”

Warren dropped the crystal fragments back onto the desk and dusted his hands off before slinging an arm around Andrew’s neck. Andrew looked surprised but happy at the unexpected gesture of affection. “Andrew, buddy...remember that incredibly stupid idea Jonathan had a few weeks ago?”

Andrew licked his lips nervously. “Uhh...no?”

Jonathan scooped up the crystal fragments and showed them to Andrew. “Look at what happened to the piece of crap Warren got from his online guy. Even if I had been able to use it for the shrink ray, it would have lasted maybe a week before it couldn’t handle the pressure anymore. I need to get something with better quality, which means I need to go to The Magic Box.”

Andrew fidgeted under the combined gazes of his friends. “Uh, okay, but...that’s really not a good idea. I mean, the Slayer is there all the time, and also Mr. Giles. What if one of them recognises you?”

Jonathan dumped the fragments into the trash bin under his worktable. “So what if they do? Everyone in this town gets their magic talismans from The Magic Box. It wouldn’t be any more suspicious than going to the diner or movies.”

“Yeah, but if, like, the police get ahold of the shrink ray they’d be able to trace the crystal back to us,” Andrew said, though he sounded unsure. He was just repeating the arguments Warren had brought up two weeks ago when they had last had this discussion.

“That’s a very good point, Andrew,” Warren said. He still had his arm around Andrew but was staring straight at Jonathan as he spoke. “It’s almost like Jonathan wants us to get caught.” 

“Of course I don’t want to get caught,” Jonathan protested. “There won’t be anything to get caught doing if we don’t have the right materials! You’re being completely unreasonable.”

“Is it unreasonable to be looking out for my friends best interests?” Warren asked, turning his head towards Andrew.

Andrew glanced at Warren, then turned away quickly. “Uh-uh,” he mumbled, ducking out from under Warren’s grip. “I don’t think you should go to The Magic Box, Jonathan. We’ll find another crystal. M-maybe we can take the van to Los Angeles and you can pick one up there?”

“You’re not taking my van to L.A.,” Warren said. “Look, I’ll make Eddie replace the shitty crystal with a good quality one, okay? Will that make you happy?”

Eddie probably wouldn’t know good quality if it slapped him in the face. “Whatever,” Jonathan said. He pushed away from the worktable and stood up, brushing past Warren on his way towards the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Warren demanded.

“For a walk,” Jonathan said. Not that it was any of his damn business. Jonathan didn’t have to hold himself accountable to Warren; it’s not like he was their leader or anything. He had made that abundantly clear during the whole fiasco with the M’Fashnik demon. The whole take-over-Sunnydale plan may have been Warren’s to begin with, but when things got rough, he had no problem handing over responsibility to someone else and then pretending their success was all thanks to him when everything turned out okay in the end.

Jonathan’s feet carried him automatically through the streets he’d travelled since he was old enough to go out on his own. Sunnydale was nothing special - just one of thousands of small towns throughout the United States. True, it wasn’t big and flashy like L.A. but it posed enough of a challenge to be rewarding if they did actually manage to do any of the things they planned.

They hadn’t been counting on the Slayer when this all started, though. Jonathan had been to her funeral, seen her grave with his own eyes. Well, no - that wasn’t strictly true. He had been to the funeral of Buffy Summers, college dropout. Which, apparently, not many people realised were one and the same person - though how it could have escaped their knowledge, he didn’t understand. He had lurked in the back of the funeral parlour as her closest friends said eulogies. A few of them had stopped to talk to him afterwards, but nothing more than the usual awkward small talk: “Hi, how are you, lovely weather for a funeral isn’t it?” Their eyes slid right past him and onto the next person before he had a chance to say much of anything.

Without realising it, Jonathan had made his way to what passed for ‘downtown’ in Sunnydale. He knew if he continued just two more blocks due north, he would be right across the street from the Magic Box. He paused, considering his options. He could go back to Warren’s basement and hope Eddie would pull through for them. Or he could ignore Warren’s petty tyranny and take matters into his own hands. If he succeeded, Warren would be forced to acknowledge that he, Jonathan, had been right all along.

Of course, if something went wrong, if one of Warren’s dire predictions came true, all three of them would be royally screwed.

But it couldn’t hurt to just look, could it? He might not even find what he needed.

Steeling his resolve, Jonathan resumed his previous course. He’d just poke his head in, take a look around. No commitments - probably nobody would even notice him in there. He might pick up a couple of ritual candles for Andrew, since between the two of them they were running low and they were a relatively harmless item. When a demon ran loose in Sunnydale, nobody ever stopped to look at what types of candles were used to summon it.

There were a few people in the shop browsing when Jonathan opened the door. Most of the customers he knew by sight if not by name; behind the counter he could see Anya Jenkins chatting with elderly Mrs. Keebler, who had run the florist shop for forty years before retiring. Mr. Giles himself was nowhere to be seen, but he could be lurking anywhere. When he was a librarian, he’d had the most unnerving tendency to appear suddenly when students least expected it.

At a round table in the middle of the shop sat Dawn Summers and Xander Harris. It would probably be best to avoid them, which probably shouldn’t be too difficult to manage, he figured. Ducking around a couple of idle browsers, Jonathan made his way to the back corner where the best candles were kept. He picked up a few, testing the heft and the feel of the wax. These were definitely better than the ones Warren had gotten from Eddie, and just about the same price. Choosing two, he set the others back on the table and wandered as casually as he could over to the crystals display.

Specifically, he was hoping to find a decent channelling quartz crystal, though he would be willing to settle for a diamond window quartz if absolutely necessary. The trouble was, there were dozens of different types of quartz crystals, and many of them looked quite similar to the untrained eye. An amateur could easily get confused, which was why it was a bad idea to have someone like Eddie getting their supplies. He might know everything about electronics, but he knew next to nothing about what it took to summon a Kholak demon or put a confusion spell on someone.

Jonathan put the candles down on the counter, out of the way, so that he could use both hands to examine the wide variety of crystals. They were a durable sort of merchandise, which was probably a good thing when the shop was under attack - which it seemed to be fairly often. Crystals weren’t easily destroyed just because a vampire threw them around, though Jonathan imagined it was a nightmare to continually have to resort them into their proper arrangements. At some point, Mr. Giles must have gotten tired of having to do that and just chucked everything into bins according to size and purpose. It may have been easier for cleanup purposes, but it made Jonathan’s task a hell of a lot more difficult.

After several minutes of searching, however, he was getting ready to give up. He had pulled out one or two promising-looking crystals but they turned out to be something else other than what he needed. One in particular he had set aside, but the rest had ended up getting dumped back in. Maybe Warren had been right about The Magic Box, but not for the reasons he had stated. Jonathan picked up the crystal that he had set aside, examining it. Completely unflawed. It would be useless for holding the energy he would need, but -

A girl came over to the crystal display and grabbed something from one of the shelves near Jonathan’s head. He flinched, then blushed at his own reaction. The girl glanced at him, a friendly and open expression on her face, if a bit doleful. “I’m s-sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay,” Jonathan muttered, not quite looking her in the eye. “I mean, you didn’t. N-not really.” Jonathan knew this girl vaguely as one of Buffy’s friends; he had definitely seen the two of them around UC Sunnydale campus before Buffy had dropped out, usually accompanied by Willow Rosenburg at the very least. Probably not best friends, but it would still be a bad idea to engage her in conversation.

The girl glanced at the crystal in Jonathan’s hand. “Dolphin quartz? That’s very nice.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan said. “Thanks.” That was stupid - what was he thanking her for? “It’s really good quality, but it wasn’t exactly what I wanted.”

She set down the object she had come over to retrieve and gave Jonathan her full attention. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, no...that’s okay. They probably don’t even have it,” Jonathan stuttered.

“If you tell me what it is, I can check the overstock. Giles doesn’t put the best stuff up here. He keeps most of it downstairs, where it won’t get damaged or, you know...wander off on its own.”

Jonathan glanced nervously towards the counter. Anya had long since finished with Mrs. Keebler and was now fussing with the front window display. Xander and Dawn had disappeared from the round table, and most of the shop’s other occupants had moved on. He and Sammy Zimmons were the only two customers left in the shop. Probably nobody aside from this girl would even remember he’d been in there today, and even she would forget within a few days’ time, provided he didn’t do anything too memorable.

“I-I’m trying to find a channelling quartz crystal. About this big, if possible.” He demonstrated the size with his left hand. “I know they’re hard to come by at that size, but I figured this would be the best place to check.”

The girl cocked her head thoughtfully. “I don’t think we have one that size but would it still work if it’s a little bit smaller?”

“Y-yeah I think so. Depends on how small, I guess,” Jonathan said.

“I’ll be right back.” She was gone before Jonathan could tell her not to trouble herself, disappearing through a door at the back of the shop that presumably led to the basement.

Jonathan grabbed the candles and dolphin crystal and went to wait close to the door without looking like he was snooping. Anya shot him a couple of suspicious glances but mostly went about her business as if he weren’t there. Sammy left the shop after a few minutes without buying anything, leaving Jonathan the only customer left. It was a nice day out, with an autumn breeze in the air, so most people were out enjoying the weather while they could.

“Do you want to purchase those?” a sharp voice asked.

Jonathan jumped. It was just Anya, but she had come upon him while he wasn’t paying attention. She was known around town for her brusque manner, so he tried not to take her tone of voice personally. “Not yet,” he muttered. “I’m waiting for your coworker to check on something.”

“What coworker?” Anya demanded, her face taking on a rather scary quality. “I’m the only employee here. Who is helping you? I should be helping you. What do you need?”

Jonathan’s eyes widened and he took a step back. “I-I-I don’t know. She’s got long hair and is really nice?”

Anya’s eyes narrowed. “Tara.” Without another word, she spun on her heel and marched down the stairs to the basement.

Jonathan hovered next to the door, unsure if he had accidentally caused some sort of upstart between the two women. Tara…must be Tara Maclay. He knew very little about her, other than she was well-known among the Wicca circles. Her name went pretty much hand-in-hand with Willow Rosenberg in that respect. She was exactly the sort of resource that would be helpful to have when trying to get proper ingredients for spells, but there was the small issue that she was close to the Slayer’s best friend.

Anya stormed back up the stairs and thrust an object into Jonathan’s hands. He fumbled and nearly dropped it: a perfect channeling crystal just slightly smaller than what he needed. He could feel the energy humming in the crystal, waiting to be wrought into something useable. He couldn’t have found anything better if he searched all over the country.

“I got that for you, not Tara,” Anya informed him. “She doesn’t work here. She doesn’t get any of the money.”

“O-okay,” Jonathan said, bewildered. He glanced at the price tag looped gently around the crystal. It was reasonable for something in such great condition, though a little steeper than Warren would have been willing to pay.

“She’s a little protective of her money,” Tara said, coming up the stairs and smiling at Jonathan. She gestured at the crystal. “Do you think that’ll work?”

“Huh…oh, yeah I think so.” He brushed at some imaginary dust for want of something to do with his hands. He wanted to stay and talk, and there was something intoxicating about being right inside the lion’s den.

Tara peered over his shoulder to get a better look at the crystal and see what he was fussing with. “What do you need it for?”

Jonathan swallowed hard. She was standing awfully close to him, and it was making it a little hard to think. “Oh, I…I can’t really talk about it. It’s a surprise. For…a friend.” He shrugged in what he hoped was a casual manner.

If Tara noticed his bumbling, she didn’t say anything. “I’m sure your friend will really appreciate the effort you put into getting the perfect crystal,” she told him sincerely.

 _You obviously don’t know Warren_ , Jonathan thought. Out loud, he said, “You go to UC Sunnydale, right? I think I’ve seen you around.”

“Really? Yeah, I do. I’m Tara.” She automatically held out her hand for Jonathan to shake before realising his arms were too full for him to reciprocate. “Sorry.”

“I’m Jonathan,” he offered, then mentally kicked himself. So much for not leaving any evidence he’d ever been there. Every instinct in his mind was screaming at him to get out of the shop before he did or said something damaging, but a large part of him wanted to stay and talk to this girl, try to impress her with the things he had discovered about magic. She was the first person to really talk to him - and not talk _down_ to him - in his whole life other than Andrew. “Uh, I really should get going. I’ve got to - to get started. On the present.”

“For your friend,” Tara supplied helpfully.

“Y-yeah.” Jonathan took a step back, nearly running into a table holding wrought charms.

“I hope he or she likes it. You should come back and tell me if it works out,” Tara said.

“I’ll definitely do that,” Jonathan said, thinking _I can never show my face here again_. 

\---

“Where the hell have you been?” Andrew whined when Jonathan got back. He was sitting on Jonathan’s stool, playing with a few scraps of dried henbane that was left over from one of Jonathan’s previous projects.

“None of your business,” Jonathan snapped. “And leave that stuff alone. It’s really powerful.” He set his shopping back on the worktable and gave Andrew a shove. “Get out of my seat.”

“Why are you always so bossy?” Andrew got up off the stool that Jonathan preferred because it was taller than any of the other chairs in the basement.

“I’m not the bossy one.” Jonathan pulled one of the summoning candles out of the bag and thrust it at Andrew. “Here. Don’t waste it like you did the last one.”

“I didn’t waste the last one,” Andrew protested. “The power went out, and we couldn’t see.”

“That’s what flashlights are for, dingus. Not powerful summoning candles. Where’s Warren?”

Andrew shrugged, reaching for the shopping bag to see what else was in there, but Jonathan snatched it out of his reach. Andrew sighed. “I don’t know. Where did you get this stuff? Did you go to the Magic Box?”

“I told you, it’s none of your business.” His ears grew warm and he knew he was starting to blush, but hopefully Andrew wouldn’t notice.

“Oh my god, you did,” Andrew said, eyes widening. He looked partly awed, partly nervous. “Why did you go there? Warren told you not to.”

“Warren’s not the boss of me.” Jonathan sat down on the stool, which was still slightly warm from Andrew’s body heat. “Besides, look what I found there.” He reached into the bag, careful not to let Andrew see the other contents, and pulled out the channelling crystal. “It’s not perfect, but it’s better than anything Warren’s guy could have found.”

Andrew took the crystal from him carefully, eyes full of wonder. “It’ll work?”

“I think so.” No, that wasn’t good enough. He didn’t risk everything for a maybe. “Yes, it’ll work. The shrink ray is as good as finished.”

“That is so cool,” Andrew breathed.

A loud clatter on the stairs alerted them that Warren was coming down. “Jonathan, you’re back? Good. I wanted to tell you that I talked to Eddie and he - What is that?”

Andrew glanced down at the crystal still in his hands and quickly shoved it at Jonathan. “Nothing. I don’t know. He did it, I didn’t do it.”

Warren’s gaze flitted from the crystal that was now clutched in Jonathan’s hands to the shopping bag on the table to the summoning candle Andrew had laid haphazardly on the floor. “You went to the Magic Box. After we agreed as a team that you weren’t allowed to go.”

Jonathan bristled at the use of the word ‘allowed.’ Andrew and Warren sure as hell weren’t his parents and even if they had been, he was old enough to make his own choices. “Yeah, but look at what I found there. It’s perfect. And no one even knew I was there - Anya Jenkins was working the register and she didn’t even look at me when she took my money.” Jonathan slid off his stool and held the crystal out to Warren for inspection.

Quick as a flash, Warren snatched the crystal out of his hand and threw it as hard as he could against the far basement wall. There was a sickening crack as it hit, and Andrew flinched as if it was he who had felt the impact. “I don’t care if you went in there invisible and stole it off the shelf - we agreed you weren’t going to do something so stupidly risky. God, Jonathan, it’s like you don’t care about us at all!”

“That’s not true,” Jonathan protested. Recovering from his surprise, he scrambled over to where the crystal had landed. It wasn’t broken, thankfully, but the energies inside felt frazzled and hectic. It would be harder to work with until they had a chance to settle down. “I care about us succeeding, and doing whatever it takes for that to happen. If this works - if we are able to take over Sunnydale - and if that happens because I took a risk this afternoon, then it’ll be worth it.”

“But if we fail, it’ll be all your fault,” Warren snarled.

“I don’t know, though,” Andrew said thoughtfully. “It actually would’ve been really cool if he had snuck in there all invisible and stolen the crystal right off the shelf.”

“Shut up, Andrew,” Warren and Jonathan said at the same time.

Andrew crossed his arms, pouting. Jonathan sighed, regretful that he had lashed out at Andrew, who was only trying to relieve the tension. Keeping his distance from Warren, lest he get violent again, Jonathan walked back over to the worktable, slid the crystal into the shopping bag, and lifted the whole thing off the table. He wanted to just walk out of there without saying something, but that felt like he was letting Warren win.

“I’m not sorry.”

As defiance went, it was low key and not even all that audible, but the message was clear, and Jonathan meant it wholeheartedly.

\---Eleven days later---

“Jonathan!”

Jonathan ignored the voice calling out. The number of people who currently might have cause to yell his name could be counted on two fingers, and neither of them had such a feminine voice. He was sitting on a park bench, watching Sunnydale go about its evening routine, and the park was fairly crowded.

“Jonathan Levinson!”

Jonathan’s head jerked up, scanning the crowd. About twenty yards away Tara Maclay and Dawn Summers were walking towards him. Dawn was waving energetically with one hand and had a large ice cream cone in the other; every time she took a lick, the waving hand slowed down slightly.

“Hi,” he said as they drew closer, trying not to let the wariness creep into his voice. “Uh, what’s up?”

“We were just at Frosty’s and saw you sitting here. Tara wanted to come talk to you. What’re you doing here all by yourself?” Dawn asked, chasing a drip that was threatening to spill onto her hand. She had a childlike bluntness to her question that reminded Jonathan strongly of Andrew.

Jonathan shrugged. The truth was, he’d needed some fresh air and this was his favourite spot to come and watch people. People fascinated him - their everyday lives, their hobbies, their habits. He both envied and abhorred them for their simple, unimportant lives. It had been nearly two weeks since Jonathan’s trip to the Magic Box, and the subsequent butting of heads with Warren, and Jonathan had grown more and more ambivalent about the whole take-over-Sunnydale gig. It sounded awesome on paper, but when he came to this spot in the park, he often couldn’t remember why he wanted to be a supervillain in the first place. “Just thinking, you know...about stuff.”

Dawn raised her eyebrows. “That’s...good? Stuff is usually very important to think about.”

Jonathan blushed. He wasn’t good with words on a regular basis, and Tara seemed to make him especially tongue-tied. He glanced at her. “Y-you wanted to talk to me?” He tried not to sound too surprised about it.

“Oh, uh...nothing important. Well, important to you, probably, but not world-ending or anything. I was just curious how your present for your friend worked out,” Tara said.

The shrink ray was almost done, and test trials so far had been going well. In fact, that was what Andrew and Warren were currently doing. Jonathan had been helping them, but when Warren’s casual snide remarks had become too aggravating, he made up an excuse to leave. “It isn’t quite finished yet,” Jonathan said. “But I think it’s going to turn out really well. I think he’ll be pleased.”

Tara smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”

There was a slightly awkward pause. Jonathan scrambled to think of something - anything - to say so that they would not leave. “Uh, do you guys want to sit down? There’s plenty of bench.” _Oh yes, that was so smooth_ , Jonathan groused at himself.

Tara glanced up at the lowering sun. It was just about touching the horizon now and would disappear in less than twenty minutes. Sunnydale residents knew it wasn’t a good idea to be hanging out in open areas - especially in or near the cemeteries - after dark, but lately Jonathan had been doing it more and more often.

“The others are going to be here soon,” Dawn said to Tara, also glancing at the twilit sky.

Tara nodded. “We’d love to stay here with you. Really. But we’re heading to the Magic Box for a weekly thing.”

“I understand,” Jonathan said quickly.

“Wanna come with us?” Dawn asked as if it weren’t a big deal to invite Jonathan Levinson to do...well, anything.

“I-I-I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Jonathan stammered.

“Why not?” Dawn switched her cone to the other hand so she could suck at a spill that had gotten out of control.

What could he say? ‘Buffy Summers always pitied me but never wanted me to join her little gang’ sounded too self-effacing; ‘Buffy Summers is my arch nemesis’ was too melodramatic (and would obviously get him into all kinds of trouble). It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the truth - that he should get back to his friends - but he wasn’t feeling particularly friendly towards either member of the Trio right now. He shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t,” Tara assured him instantly. “We’re just going to watch a movie in the training- er, the back room of the Magic Box.”

“We used to do it at our house, but it’s not exactly suitable for guests at the moment,” Dawn said.

“You watch a movie once a week?” Jonathan asked. It was a quaint idea to him; he was used to hanging out with Andrew and Warren who needed absolutely no excuse to set aside an entire day for a Star Trek or X-Files marathon.

“It’s sort of a tradition now,” Tara said. “B-but if you have something else you need to be doing, we totally understand.”

“Not really, no. I’d love to come,” Jonathan’s mouth said without his brain’s permission. “If you think I’d really be welcome.”

“Of course you will. You were at my sister’s birthday party,” Dawn said.

Jonathan didn’t point out that literally everyone Buffy knew, no matter how distantly, had been invited to her birthday party. “Okay,” he said. He picked up his messenger back from where he had laid it beside the park bench. There wasn’t much in there: his journal, a book, a few pens and pencils, but he liked having those things handy when he came to the park, just in case. He suddenly thought of something. “Shouldn’t I bring something? Like some snacks or anything?”

Dawn glanced at Tara, who looked thoughtful. “I doubt we’ll need anything. Unless you have something specific that you like to munch on. But other than that, you can feel free to chip in for pizza.”

He could definitely do that. He’d been careful with his cut of the bank heist money, only carrying a little bit of it on him at any given time. The two girls led the way to the Magic Box; it was quite dark now, and the streetlights were deeply shadowed. The Magic Box looked strangely ominous at night.

Tara let the three of them into the closed shop and ushered Jonathan towards the back room, from whence drifted the sounds of many people chatting and laughing. It was even more crowded than the park had been, or maybe it just seemed that way because there were so many people crowded into such a small space. He recognised almost everyone by name or at least by sight, though there was one guy with bleach-blond hair that Jonathan was pretty sure was Spike the vampire. But that didn’t make any sense - why would a vampire be having a casual movie night with a group that included the Slayer?

“The others aren’t here yet?” Dawn asked her sister.

“Huh uh,” Buffy said. “It’s not quite 8 yet though.”

More people were going to be coming? Jonathan wasn’t sure he hadn’t made a huge mistake after all. He lingered by the door, unnoticed; no one had seen him come in, and Tara had gotten waylaid by Willow. Everyone was busily arranging exercise mats and beanbag chairs, or else laying out snacks on a card table towards the back of the room. The room’s true purpose Tara had tried to keep herself from revealing earlier, but even the most oblivious person would be able to tell it was some sort of battle training room. There were weapons all over the place, and a grand assortment of exercise equipment. This was where the Slayer was both at her strongest and her most vulnerable.

“Hey, I know you,” Anya said, finally noticing Jonathan. He startled slightly at her loud tone. Everyone was looking at him now.

“Jonathan?” Buffy asked, as if she wasn’t sure she believed what she was seeing.

“W-we saw him in the p-park and invited him to c-come along,” Tara said. Jonathan had never heard her stammer so much before and it took him aback slightly. “We fig-figured no one would mind.”

“I brought money to chip in for pizza,” Jonathan offered lamely, as if that would keep them from kicking him out if they decided they didn’t want him around.

“Of course we don’t mind,” Xander proclaimed magnanimously. “The more the merrier! How’s it going, Johnny-boy?”

“Uh, good.” Fortunately, he was saved from having to answer any further than that by the arrival of five more people, two of whom he had never seen before: an African-American man and a petite brunette. Two others were people he vaguely knew by sight from junior and senior year of high school: both tall men, one significantly more muscled than the other. And lastly - 

“Cordelia?” Jonathan blurted out before he could stop himself. Last he had heard, she moved to L.A. to be an actress; why was she back in Sunnydale with the Scoobies?

“Oh my god, Jonathan?” She sounded genuinely delighted to see him, an impression that was supported when she enveloped him in a tight hug. “How are you? What are you doing here? Has Buffy finally come to her senses and realised she’s not actually too cool to hang out with you?”

“I never said I was too cool to hang out with Jonathan,” Buffy protested. 

Jonathan knew he was beet red and would have given anything to be able to disappear right then. Cordelia rolled her eyes with her most cutting “as-if” air. “Whatever. I just call it like I see it.”

She moved away from Jonathan, heading for the snack table. Buffy smiled at Jonathan but made no move to come talk to him; she was too busy setting up a couple of folded chairs. Willow and Tara were whispering quietly in their corner. Everyone else went about their business as usual, glancing occasionally at Jonathan hovering indecisively next to the door. It wasn’t too late to slip out and no one would even miss him. He watched as Tara ran a hand down Willow’s arm in a very intimate gesture. Apparently it wasn’t just their names that went hand-in-hand these days.

Jonathan could have kicked himself for being so stupid. Of course they didn’t want him around. It was nice seeing Cordelia again because he knew her reaction to seeing him was sincere, but Buffy and her friends could be a little flakey at times. They would say one thing but their actions didn’t follow their words.

“Are you okay?” a voice to his right said quietly. Jonathan startled; he hadn’t heard Tara come up beside him. “Do you want to sit down or get something to eat?”

“Maybe I should go,” Jonathan said quietly. “I don’t think I belong here.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tara said, and she genuinely did look sorry. “There’s something about you, Jonathan. You have a good aura and you are capable of great things, but…”

“But what?” Jonathan asked, trying not to sound too eager. He had a good aura?

Tara shook her head slowly, bewildered. “I don’t know. There’s something...I don’t know.” She sighed. “Sorry.”

“Hey, go get some snacks,” Cordelia ordered Jonathan, coming back over. “Before Xander pigs out and eats them all.”

“Very funny, Cordy,” Xander sneered.

Jonathan wavered, on the verge of turning around and simply leaving, but something kept his feet rooted to the floor. He had a good aura? Could that really be true? Tara seemed like she knew what she was talking about, but maybe she was mistaken this time.

“Things will settle down once the movie starts,” Tara said in an undertone. “In the meantime you can come hang out with Willow and me if you want. Or Fred is really nice and sometimes finds everyone pretty overwhelming too, so you two might get along. Or Angel, he’s pretty mellow usually.”

Jonathan followed her pointing finger to the people in question. He could do this, he realised. Tonight he could make new friends, ones who wouldn’t tear him down or throw him under the bus when things got rough. All he had to do was pluck up enough courage to try.

“Thank you,” he said to Tara and Cordelia. They both smiled at him, happy to help. They would probably never know precisely the depth of his gratitude or what exactly he was thanking them for, but that was okay.


	4. Andrew's Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pairings: Tara/Willow  
> This chapter's rating: Teen  
> Warnings: Not so much a warning as.... well just bear in mind this is narrated from Andrew's point of view. That's all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beautiful, wonderful, perfect beta did fanart for chapter 3 of Jonathan getting all blushy over Tara:

“Dude, you have to come back.”

These were the first words Andrew had spoken to Jonathan in nearly two weeks and okay maybe he should have opened with something a little less abrupt like maybe ‘hi how are you we need you back’ but as soon as Jonathan opened the door to his tiny single-bed dormitory Andrew blurted out the first thing that jumped into his head. And it was true: he had to come back to The Trio. It wasn’t a matter of ‘should’ or ‘please’ - if Jonathan did not come back, bad things were going to happen.

“If you don’t come back, bad things are going to happen.”

Jonathan stared at him, nonplussed. “What the hell are you talking about, Andrew?”

Behind him there was a shuffling sound. Andrew peered over Jonathan’s shoulder and nearly stumbled when he realised there were two girls sitting on Jonathan’s bed. And not just any girls - two of Buffy’s closest confidants: Willow Rosenberg and Tara Maclay. Of all the deviousness! Jonathan was cavorting with the enemies.

“Is everything okay, Jonathan?” the redhead asked.

“Should we, uh...come back later?” said the brunette.

“Yeah, everything is fine,” Jonathan told them, which was so totally not true. But he didn’t know that yet. Andrew hadn’t told him yet, and he couldn’t tell him while these girls were listening in. Although, maybe he could plant some false information for them to take back to Buffy. It would be just like how Sisko tricked the Romulans into joining the war against the Dominion. “But I think I can handle the rest from here. Thank you for showing me how to work that spell, Tara. And thanks looking over my supplies, Willow.”

“No problem,” Rosenberg said as both girls picked up their jackets and bags. Andrew moved out of the way to let them out into the hall.

“See you tomorrow,” Maclay said, waving farewell to both of them. Andrew watched her as she went to the end of the hall, and...wait, did she blow Jonathan a kiss? She must have - they had been so cozy in the dorm just a moment ago, it would only be natural….

“What do you want, Andrew?” Jonathan asked him.

Andrew’s attention snapped back to the lost soul in the messy room. “I already told you - you have to come back.”

Jonathan sighed - not exactly a nice response to someone who was trying to save his skin, but that was fine because Jonathan had never really been all that up on the gratitude thing - and moved aside so that Andrew could come in. He shut the door firmly. “Why do I have to come back?”

“Because, man, you made a pact with us. And then you just up and disappear without a word? Warren and I have been so worried about you. Where the hell have you been? And why did you have two of the Slayer’s closest associates in your room?” Andrew asked in what was definitely a most reasonable tone of voice, in spite of how often Warren told him that he was whining.

“They were helping me try out a new spell. Willow knows a lot about how to identify the perfect ingredients, though she’s not supposed to be using magic right now. Tara was helping me get the intonation right. And our pact was stupid,” Jonathan said, flopping down on his bed, careful not to disturb any of the debris from their magical working.

“Our pact was not stupid,” Andrew snapped. “What do you mean the witch isn’t supposed to be doing magic?”

Jonathan rolled his eyes, but he looked troubled. “Forget I said that, okay? It’s nothing you and Warren need to worry about.”

The witch was incapacitated - this was delightful news. Perhaps Jonathan working for the enemy could have its benefits after all.

Still, Andrew missed having him around. Warren was great and all, but he’d been in a bad mood ever since Jonathan defected, and he was taking it out on Andrew. Plus Jonathan was more likely to agree with Andrew about important stuff, like who would win in a fight: Superman or Wolverine. Andrew leaned casually against Jonathan’s desk, which was littered with papers in all sorts of languages, most of which Andrew could read with no problem. A lot of them had accompanying artwork or designs. “What spell were you doing?” he asked, riffling through some of the papers.

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with,” Jonathan said. “Hey, knock it off. You’re going to mess up my stuff.” He leaned over to slap Andrew’s hand away from his precious papers. “Did Warren send you here to spy on me?”

“No,” Andrew said. “I’m here because I’m trying to do you a favour.”

“Some favour,” Jonathan muttered. There he went again with the ingratitude thing. Here Morpheus was handing him the world on a silver platter, and instead of being like Neo about it, Jonathan was choosing the blue pill. He wanted to live in a world where everything was only face value and he would take whatever was given to him. Bo~ring. “You think it’s a favour to get me to leave behind friends who actually care about me in favour of you and Warren who only make fun of me and make me feel like crap?”

“That’s not true! Of course we care about you. The Slayer ignored you for years - you said so yourself. You said her and her friends thought they were too cool to hang out with you in high school and that taking over Sunnydale would show her that we were all cooler than them,” Andrew said.

“That was before I really got to know them,” Jonathan said. “I met Tara that day I went to the Magic Box, and she was really nice to me. She invited me to hang out with them without making me feel like a waste of space in the process.”

“Warren never called you a waste of space,” Andrew argued.

Jonathan closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. “You’re missing my point. He might not have said it exactly in those words, but he said it every day in the way he would dismiss my ideas or call me names or break my stuff and pretend like it was an accident. The other day I told Buffy I knew a spell that could double the strength of the protection spells on her house, and she didn’t laugh in my face. I’d say that’s a real improvement over what you and Warren did when I offered to put up any protection spells on his basement.”

Andrew shifted uneasily. “I actually thought the protection spell idea was really good.”

Jonathan sprang to his feet. “That’s exactly my point! You’re smart and you know a good idea when you hear it, but you let Warren’s influence get into your head. You need to take a stand against him, like I did. Or else he’s going to lead you don’t a path you won’t be able to come back from.”

“You don’t understand,” Andrew said. “I don’t want to abandon him like you abandoned us.”

“I didn’t abandon you,” Jonathan said, looking pained.

“Yes you did,” Andrew insisted. “You ran off like...like Han Solo when he got his reward money. He just ditched his friends and ran off only looking after himself. Well I’m here to tell you that you’re being really selfish right now.”

“So what, you’re Princess Leia?” Jonathan asked sarcastically.

“If that’s who I need to be to talk some sense into you, then yes,” Andrew said, raising his head proudly. He could totally pull off Princess Leia.

“Talk sense into me,” Jonathan repeated slowly, sitting down on the edge of his bed, forgetting about the stuff that was still flung all over it. “Han was running away from the good guys. And when he came back it was to do the right thing. If you think Warren is some kind of Luke Skywalker, you are delusional.”

“Don’t call me delusional,” Andrew snapped. “I know what’s real and what isn’t, okay? And our group was real - we were trying to achieve something real.”

“No, we weren’t. We were being stupid. We were going to make a splash and have some fun, and make our lives a little better than they were. It was a game. But I don’t think Warren thinks it’s a game anymore. I think he’s taking it a little too seriously. And if you’re really here right now to try to get me to come back, then you’re taking it too seriously, too,” Jonathan said.

Andrew jammed his hands into his pockets. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Warren wanted to kill Buffy, Andrew. We’re not murderers.” Jonathan leaned forward and caught Andrew’s eye. “I am not a murderer. That’s not what I signed up for. If that’s the path you and Warren are heading down...that’s the path to the Dark Side.”

“Duh, Shrimpathan. We’re evil, remember?”

“Then your analogy is completely wrong! You’re not Leia and I’m not Han and Warren sure as hell isn’t Luke - no, it’s more like, like...He’s Emperor Palpatine and I’m Darth Vader and you’re just some stupid Empire flunky who isn’t even important enough to put in the film.”

“That’s not true!”

“Search your feelings, numbnuts,” Jonathan said. “You know what I’m saying is the truth.”

“It’s not. You just don’t understand him; no one does. He’s like -”

“No,” Jonathan said sharply. “No more analogies. He’s not like anyone except Warren Mears: sociopath. Do you really think he loves you? He’s incapable of love. Why can’t you see that?”

Andrew did not say anything, ignoring the jibe about love. What did Jonathan know about how Andrew felt about Warren, and for that matter what the hell did Jonathan know about love at all? He was so obviously jealous of Warren. Why? Because Andrew was closer to Warren than he was to Jonathan. Andrew felt bad for him, he really did. No wonder he was so misguided.

Jonathan sighed. “Buffy’s not going to put up with your antics for much longer. And when she takes you down, it won’t be pretty. Even if you get out alive, you won’t be left whole. And I’m not sure Warren will make it at all.”

“Don’t say that,” Andrew whispered. “We can take her. If we had you back, we could defeat her.”

“What do you think ‘defeat’ means in this situation, Andrew? Buffy isn’t a video game character who will return again after the KO. If she’s going down, Warren’s going to make sure she stays down. You won’t come out of this being able to feel like you’ve done the right thing. Because if you feel that murdering Buffy is the right thing to do, then I don’t know you at all. I don’t think I ever did. Because the Andrew I became friends with had a good heart.”

Andrew squeezed his eyes shut as if that would block out the sound of Jonathan’s voice. “What am I supposed to do?” he asked.

“Leave Warren,” Jonathan replied instantly, as if he had been waiting for that question the whole time. “He doesn’t deserve your loyalty, and you don’t have to put up with him. It’s not too late to just walk out.”

Andrew’s eyes snapped open. “Yes, it is. Warren’s not just going to let us go. He’ll come after us. He already said you… you know too much. He said if you don’t come back, then he’ll have to…”

“To what,” Jonathan asked, a note of fear creeping into his voice. “To _what?_ Is he going to kill me?”

“No,” Andrew cried. “No, I think he was just going to find a way to mess with your memories. So, you know, you wouldn’t be able to blab our secret plans.”

Jonathan relaxed, though just an inch. “Buffy can protect us. She will protect us. Maybe even without us having to explain about how we were in on the bank heist and everything.”

Maybe...maybe Jonathan had a point. It wasn’t that Andrew was unaware of some of Warren’s more...problematic aspects. It was just that there didn’t seem to be any alternatives. And being evil was kinda fun. But now things weren’t so much fun anymore. And here was Jonathan, offering him an alternative… It was certainly tempting.

“You think they’ll accept me?” Andrew asked casually. It didn’t matter if they did or not - he didn’t need their approval. Unlike Jonathan, who thrived on other people’s attention.

Jonathan shrugged. “Probably. I mean some of the Scoobies can be kinda cliquey but Tara and Dawn are really nice. I think if they can befriend me, I don’t see why they wouldn’t befriend you.”

“So, like...what do I have to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like...to be considered a Scooby? Do I have to, like, go through an initiation or something?” Andrew said.

“Uh, no? Kinda just...hang out. There’s a lot of just hanging out. Well, Buffy trains a lot but I don’t really get to see much of that. I think she’s shy about it, or doesn’t really trust me yet. Actually, if we go to the Magic Box right now, I bet a bunch of them will be there,” Jonathan said. “Dawn usually goes there right after school and does her homework or researching stuff.”

That piqued Andrew’s interest. “What kind of stuff does she research?”

Jonathan shrugged again. “Whatever they need to know about, I guess. Mr. Giles has all kinds of old books about demons and magic and stuff. Remember all those books that he kept in the library that no one was allowed to touch?”

“Oh. Oh! Yeah, I remember. I always wondered what was in those books.”

Jonathan sprang to his feet and grabbed his jacket off the floor. “Let’s go there right now and see who’s around.”

“Do you think Mr. Giles has any books about Sorren’le demons?” Andrew asked, following him out the door.

Jonathan gave him a sharp look. “Maybe. Why?”

“Just curious. Not for evil reasons, I promise. Cross my heart, hope to die.”

“Hm. I guess you can ask him when we get there. I don’t know all of his books by heart or anything. I’m not sure even he knows all of his books by heart. Buffy’s got these friends in L.A. who drive up every Thursday and they all watch movies together kinda like a family bonding experience thing. Anyway one of them, this guy Wesley, he knows almost as much about demonology as Mr. Giles and they’re always arguing about some detail in Haversham’s Lexicon of Tropical Sprites or something. I don’t even know.”

“What kind of movies do they watch?” Because of course that was the thing Andrew would latch onto, out of all the information Jonathan had just plied him with.

“All kinds. Depends on whose week it is to choose.”

“Oh. Cool. If I become a Scooby, will I get to choose a movie?” Andrew asked.

“Uh, I guess.” The Magic Box was about a mile away from the university, and they walked there at an easy pace. “I mean it hasn’t really come up like how they decide whose week it is or if I’ll be added to the list or anything. So far I just kind of show up and mostly stick around Tara or Fred - that’s one of the people from L.A. - and mind my own business. Hanging out at the Magic Box is fun because it’s usually just four or five people, if that. But movie nights tend to be up to twelve people at a time, so I’m not so good at the whole mingling thing.”

“Oh.” Andrew considered this information carefully. “It’s kinda like The Avengers, like some members come and go, and like other members are permanent?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Jonathan said.

“I fear we may have underestimated dear Buffy and her comrades,” Andrew ruminated.

“We never stood a chance.”

“Maybe. But it was totally fun while it lasted.”

The walk to the Magic Box took them past the local comic book store. Andrew and Jonathan both slowed down instinctively as they walked past, but neither made a move to actually go inside. They were on a mission: infiltrate the Scooby Gang and learn all their secrets - but in a friendship way. Not in a dastardly way.

The shop was quiet when they arrived. Andrew had done enough surveillance on the Magic Box to know the regulars more or less by name. Anya was working the register as usual, while Mr. Giles read over some ledgers at his desk. Tara and Dawn were rearranging a display along the back wall. Xander lounged in a chair at the round table in the center of the room. No customers browsed, though the shop held an air of calmness before a storm. Everyone in the room looked over expectantly as Andrew and Jonathan entered.

“Hey, Jonathan,” Dawn called. “How’s it going?”

“Hi guys. Not bad.” He directed his gaze at Tara. “Didn’t Willow come back with you?”

Tara shook her head. “She had to go help Buffy with something.” She smiled shyly. “I see you brought your friend.”

“Yeah. Everyone, this is Andrew. He’s, uh… he’s been needing some, um...change of direction and stuff. I hope you don’t mind I brought him here?”

“Not in the least,” Mr. Giles said, standing up and proffering a hand to Andrew. “You’re welcome any time.”

“But you can’t use the shop’s merchandise for free,” Anya said quickly. Everyone looked at her. “What? I figured we’d better let him know right away. There’s already too many moochers around here,” she added with a glare at Tara.

 

“Yes, well… in any case, if you have any questions, let me or Anya know,” Mr. Giles said. Which was definitely an improvement over his days as a librarian when the most help a student could expect 88% of the time was a harried “Here, try this” as he thrust a book into the person’s arms. Granted, the book was usually exactly what the student needed, but the library never exactly made anyone feel welcome.

Andrew moved amongst the shelves, studying the displays haphazardly. He reached out to touch whatever caught his fancy. Behind him, he was vaguely aware of Jonathan settling in one of the chairs around the round table with Xander, but Andrew was too lost in his own rambling head to pay any attention to his friend. Here was bazanathia powder, neatly packaged and for sale by the ounce, which Warren always claimed was too expensive to obtain, no matter that it was necessary for a good number of the most effective spirit-raising ceremonies. Or over there were holding globes that could tie a demon’s will to your own for 48 hours at a time. Those definitely were not for amateurs. This was almost as exciting as going to the comic book store on new release days.

“Hey, you’re Andrew Wells, right?”

Andrew looked up, quickly placing the delicate glasswork charm he’d been holding back on the shelf. Dawn had finished whatever she was doing with the back wall display and come over to chat. “Maybe,” he said, squinting at her. “Why do you want to know?”

“Your brother almost ruined my sister’s prom by setting hellhounds loose,” Dawn said.

Andrew rolled his eyes. “That’s because my brother is super lame and can’t do anything right.”

Dawn nodded. “Yeah he’s pretty much an a-hole, my sister says. You don’t seem to be like him, though.”

“I’m nothing like him. I would never set hellhounds loose at prom,” Andrew scoffed.

“No, no...you just had flying monkeys attack the school play,” Dawn said with an impish smile.

Andrew grinned back at her. “It was pretty funny, huh?”

“Yeah, but don’t tell my sister I said that. She kinda gets a little uppity about demons and stuff.”

“No way,” Xander exclaimed loudly enough to draw Andrew and Dawn’s attention. “There is no way that The Hulk is cooler than Wolverine. That’s just like...not even remotely possible. The Hulk is only The Hulk part of the time, whereas Wolverine is always Wolverine.”

“The Hulk can destroy an entire city with his bare hands. Wolverine can’t do that,” Jonathan argued. “Besides, being Bruce Banner doesn’t take away from his coolness factor, it like...triples it. One minute he’s destroying enemies through brute strength, the next he’s fighting enemies with the power of his brain.”

“But Wolverine is theoretically immortal,” Xander said.

“So’s The Hulk! Andrew,” Jonathan said, turning around to appeal to his friend. “Seriously, you agree with me, right?”

Andrew went over and pulled out a chair so that he could join them at the table, with Dawn following suit. “Well, it depends. Which variation of Hulk and which variation of Wolverine?”

“All of them,” Xander said as if this was obvious. “Literally every variation of Wolverine is cooler than every variation of The Hulk.”

Jonathan scoffed. “Even Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine?”

“Hey, I liked Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine,” Andrew protested.

“Exactly,” Xander said, pointing to Andrew. “Here’s a man who can recognise that Wolverine is universally awesome even when the actor was only cast to be lady eye-candy.”

“Yeah, well if Hulk ever comes off hiatus, we’ll see if Wolverine can still stand up against Bruce Banner,” Jonathan said.

“Please,” Xander scoffed. “That movie is going to be terrible.”

Andrew nodded wisely. “I think Xander’s right.”

Xander puffed his chest up. “I think I like you.”

Andrew caught Jonathan’s eye, hoping he didn’t feel like Andrew had thrown him under the bus. But Jonathan didn’t look displeased - in fact he was almost smiling fondly at Andrew, like he was happy Andrew was settling in okay with Jonathan’s new friends.

Maybe being good was just as much fun as being evil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back from vacation now so will be back to posting a chapter a week until I run out of chapters to post. Hope you all enjoy!


	5. Buffy's Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pairings: Tara/Willow, Anya/Xander (implied), former Buffy/Angel, one-sided Angel/Cordelia implied  
> This chapter's rating: Teen  
> Warnings

“I’ll get it!” Buffy called out. The doorbell ringing on movie night could only be Angel and his friends or Jonathan and Andrew. Either way, she was passing by the door on the way to the living room anyway, so she might as well grab the door while she was at it. 

Why Angel still felt the need to ring the doorbell each week was something of a mystery, but it was a welcome piece of routine. Unlike _some_ vampires who just _barged in_ whenever they damn well felt like it.

Buffy opened the door and sure enough there stood the whole L.A. group. “Hey guys,” Buffy said, standing aside to let everyone file inside. “Glad you all could make it this time. Did everything go okay last week?”

“Smooth sailin’,” Gunn said, reaching out to Wesley for a complicated high five. Buffy caught Angel’s eyes and raised her eyebrows in amusement. He turned his head slightly so that his coworkers wouldn’t see the half-smile he shot Buffy. In the category of world’s most unlikely friendships, Gunn and Wes definitely ranked in the top five. It was nice though - it had brought out a side of Wesley that Buffy would never have imagined existed when she first met him so many years ago.

“Happy to hear it,” Buffy said. “You both were definitely missed.” There was a general rustling as coats were shed and the group moved out of the foyer. Buffy started to close the door but saw Jonathan and Andrew coming up the street, bickering about something or other. She hadn’t known Andrew for long, but it was obvious from the way the two were together, they had a long history together and pretty much never agreed on anything, at least where nerdom was concerned. The two of them plus Xander made for a perfect storm if left unchecked.

Jonathan spotted her holding the door open and doubled his pace, all but jogging up the walk to the front door. Andrew lagged behind, whining for Jonathan to slow down. “Thanks,” Jonathan muttered, not quite meeting Buffy’s eye as he slipped into the house.

“No problem,” Buffy said. “Hurry up,” she called to Andrew. “You’re letting all the cold into the house.”

Andrew picked up the pace. Almost everyone was here now - they were just waiting for Spike to get there with the movie. She hoped it wouldn’t turn into a fiasco like the last time he had been allowed to choose and ended up getting an R-rated slasher film. He’d protested that they saw more graphic stuff on a day-to-day basis, which was fair enough, but it turned out that this was the very reason why no one was particularly interested in watching a gory film. They’d settled for watching one of Buffy and Dawn’s old Disney VHS tapes instead.

Buffy took the long way around to the kitchen, passing through the dining room instead of going via the living room. The kitchen was buzzing with activity as too many people tried to do too many things all at once. The Magic Box had been a nice change of pace while Buffy had been getting her house back into order after its most recently demon-induced destruction, but they all preferred the cozy feel of lounging in Buffy’s living room - even though fifteen people sometimes pushed it past the point of coziness into insufferable crowdedness. Buffy leaned against the doorframe, watching the shenanigans with interest; nobody so much as glanced in her direction.

In the three minutes since stepping foot into the house, Andrew had already somehow commandeered a large pot, oil, various seasonings, and a giant jar of unpopped popcorn. He and Dawnie were experimenting with different flavours - Buffy just hoped that they didn’t get too crazy. Popcorn seasoned with oregano and pepper could be interesting; paprika and cumin, maybe not so much.

Angel moved seamlessly around them, heating up some food he had cooked at home and brought with him. Unfortunately, while he was able to manoeuvre around Dawn and Andrew without any hassles, the same could not be said for Fred. She was trying her best to stay out of the way, but it seemed that everywhere she went was the exact opposite of where she needed to be. Angel was patient, but it was becoming clear that he was getting frustrated. Tara kept trying to get Fred out of his way, but she was only making matters worse by getting in the way herself. Meanwhile, Xander kept snaking hot food that Angel was trying to set out. In short: everything was chaos and it would be a miracle if somebody didn’t accidentally get hurt.

Buffy was just a moment from intervening when Cordelia came into the kitchen from the other doorway, took in the scene in a matter of seconds, and caught Angel’s eye. Without a word spoken between them, they came to an understanding.

Cordelia grabbed Xander’s hand as it reached for one of the bruschetta Angel had just finished. “I don’t think so, bub,” she said. “Out.”

“But-” Xander started.

“No buts.” She twisted his arm slightly to manhandle him to the door that connected to the living room. “Unless you’re doing something useful in here, get out.” She shot a glance over her shoulder. “Fred, sweetie, that goes for you too. This isn’t like our kitchen at the hotel - there isn’t really any space to hang out while Angel works.”

Tara took hold of Fred by the shoulders to lead her gently into the living room. “Sorry, Angel,” Fred said as she allowed herself to be taken out.

“You over there,” Cordelia said to Dawnie and Andrew, who were dumping a fresh batch of popcorn into a large bowl. “What are you doing?”

Dawn raised her eyebrows. “Uhh, making popcorn? Ooooh, what about soy sauce next?” she said to Andrew.

Andrew gave her a look like she was crazy (which Buffy was glad for because really there was a limit to the amount of culinary experimentation Dawn should be allowed to do). “How about no,” he said.

“Fine,” Dawn said, making a face at him.

Buffy watched Cordelia to see what she made of this. Cordelia glanced at Angel, who looked a lot less frazzled now. He was too focused on his work to notice Cordelia’s gaze. “Okay, you keep doing that,” she said to the duo at the stove. “Buffy, in or out. Stop hovering like a weirdo.”

Angel looked over in her direction, surprised to see her. He hadn’t even noticed her standing there until just now.

Buffy held up her hands in mock surrender. “Out. I just wanted to make sure my kitchen wasn’t getting destroyed. I only just got it fixed up.”

“Here, take some popcorn with you,” Dawn said, holding one of several overflowing bowls out to her.

“What’s the magic word?” Buffy said.

“Please,” Dawn said in her most grating tone, drawing the word out to seven or eight syllables.

“Oooh, how about dill and… hmm,” Andrew said, considering the spices they had laid out on the counter. Buffy wasn’t even sure where they all had come from; she really hoped they weren’t expired.

“Dill is good with cheese,” Angel said. “Here.” He pulled open the refrigerator and grabbed a can of grated parmesan cheese. “You don’t need a lot - only about a tablespoon or two, depending on how much of this batch you’re making.”

Andrew grabbed the cheese and, with a careful eye, poured a good amount into a freshly oiled pan. Buffy took the bowl her sister was still holding out to her and left the kitchen gladly. She still wasn’t sure what to make of Jonathan’s overly enthusiastic but well-meaning friend. He knew a thing or two about cooking, though, so that made him a welcome addition on movie nights. Not that Angel’s food choices weren’t hugely appreciated - it was just that sometimes they didn’t travel all that well or took too long to set up.

“Here, Cordy,” Dawn said as Buffy left the room.

“Why am I getting roped into popcorn carrying duty?” Cordelia’s voice followed Buffy as she dodged around her friends in the living room, trying to find a place to set the bowl that wouldn’t get it knocked over. The coffee table was already packed with other munchables. What they needed was a card table that they could set up just for movie nights so that it wouldn’t be in the way all the time and would be easily stored away. If she wrangled her finances carefully and searched thriftily she might be able to find a cheap one somewhere. Maybe a Goodwill? Although the thought wasn’t exactly appealing, she might be able to get a good deal there.

In the meantime where exactly was she supposed to put the popcorn?

“Hey, who wants some, uh, basil and lime flavoured popcorn,” Cordelia asked the crowd.

“Ooh, I’ll take some,” Gunn said.

“Here you go,” Cordelia said, shoving the bowl into his hands. “Pass it around, whatever.” She went back into the kitchen.

“Hey, Buff,” Xander said. He was perched on the arm of the couch, trying to get Buffy’s attention without actually having to stand up. “Want me to take that one off your hands?” 

“Yeah, here,” Buffy said, distracted. There was just so much food. But there were also so many people, so of course there needed to be a lot of food. What if they didn’t eat it all? Well, there would be leftovers but what did you do with leftover popcorn? You couldn’t exactly eat it. You could put it in baggies and eat it at room temperature. Popcorn was okay at room temperature - like those tins full of it that you get at Christmas time. Why were popcorn tins such a big Christmas thing anyway?

“You with us, Buff?” Xander asked, worry in his voice.

Buffy brought her attention back to the scene around her. Most of the people in the living room hadn’t even noticed her lapse, but Xander and Willow, who was close by, were both looking at her with concern. “Yeah, I’m here,” she said, smiling at them. “Just wondering where Spike is with the movie.”

Buffy edged back to the kitchen. Cordelia was in there, not really doing much but leaning against the pantry door and chattering over the sound of popping corn. Angel was still focused on the task at hand, but every few moments he would glance up at her with an amused expression. He looked so relaxed and calm, serene.

He looked happy.

Buffy couldn’t help but notice in the last several weeks how much the two of them relied on each other. It was understandable - they were teammates and practically lived in each other’s pockets. They had become closer than Buffy had ever imagined two such disparate people could. She wondered about them sometimes. Cordelia hadn’t exactly been circumspect back in junior year about her attraction to Angel, but that had pretty much been squashed when she found out about the whole vampire thing, and then everything with Angelus. Now, though, sometimes the way Angel looked at Cordy…

Buffy wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

On the one hand, it was good for Angel to move on. On the other hand….Cordelia? Really? Fred would be a better match for him, if it had to be someone from their little group.

There was a loud banging sound in the front foyer and Buffy knew without turning around that Spike had arrived at last. Buffy turned around to watch as the group in the living room welcomed Spike.

“Whatcha get whatcha get whatcha get?” Xander demanded, trying to grab the Blockbuster bag from Spike’s hands.

“Pipe down, will ya? Give a vampire room to breathe.” Spike shrugged his jacket off and laid it over the stair banister. “So to speak.”

“Well?” Anya asked impatiently.

“After you lot thoroughly tore down my last amazing choice, I decided to go for something you girls might actually like,” Spike said, tossing the VHS case to Giles, who was the furthest away and therefore obviously the best target.

“ _Shakespeare in Love_?” Giles said, his voice rising half an octave in disbelief.

“Yeeeup,” Spike said, flopping down on the couch next to Jonathan, who was trying to make himself as small as possible - a fairly easy feat for him. “No bloody whining about it being too, well, bloody. Just good, clean, wholesome butchering of history. And sex.”

“This is a joke, right?” Xander asked. “You’re just messing with us as part of your whacky vampiric sense of humour.”

“I think it is a good choice,” Anya said.

“I thought you were told to stop lingering in kitchen doorways,” a soft voice said in Buffy’s ear.

Buffy looked up at Angel. “Technically when facing in this direction, I’m lingering in the living room doorway.”

Angel chuckled, then surveyed the rest of the room. “Why is Xander about ready to kill Spike?”

“I think Spike’s inner sap just revealed itself. We’re watching _Shakespeare in Love_ tonight,” Buffy explained.

“There’s nothing ‘inner’ about Spike’s sap, trust me. Even when he’s on a bloody rampage all over Europe, he still…” Angel trailed off as he caught sight of Buffy’s raised eyebrow. “Er, never mind.

“Delicious popcorn coming through,” Dawn called out. Angel ducked back into the kitchen, out of the way, so that she and Andrew could pass into the living room, each carrying a bowl.

“I don’t think there’s any more room in here,” Buffy told them. “Put it back in the kitchen and people can put it on plates if they want some.”

“You can’t eat popcorn off a plate,” Cordelia informed her, passing by with another bowl. “We’ll just make room. Xander, move some of the stuff around on the coffee table.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Xander sniped. Still, he reached out to start rearranging the bowls and platters.

“Take the popcorn,” Cordelia snapped.

“Hold your damn horses and I-”

“ _Take the popcorn_ ,” Cordelia screamed, dropping the bowl.

“Cordelia!” Xander cried.

It happened too quickly for even Buffy with her superior reflexes to react properly. The bowl crashed to the floor, scattering popcorn everywhere. Xander tried to grab Cordy as she fell, but he fumbled in his shock and only succeeded in slowing her descent. Dawn and Andrew both jumped away, frightened by what was happening. Wesley and Gunn leaped to their feet, but the coffee table was in their way and Wesley nearly stumbled in hurrying over to kneel beside her. Everyone else froze, unsure what to do and there was just Cordelia screaming and clutching her head like she was literally holding it together and it would come apart if she let go.

Angel charged into the room and all but shoved Xander away, pulling Cordelia into his arms. “Shhhh, shhhh,” he said softly, a direct contrast to his sharp movements. “What happened, what do you see?” he murmured. Wes and Gunn hovered close by, ready to leap into action.

Buffy came forward cautiously, not sure if her approach would be rebuffed like Xander’s. “A Se’hlk demon,” Cordelia said, her eyes clenched tight. “Like the one that was in L.A. last week, but this one is here in Sunnydale. Not the same one but definitely from the same clan. It -” she gulped audibly. “It’s going to massacre a couple down by Halley Park. Oh, God.”

“We’ll take care of this,” Wesley said, jumping to his feet along with Gunn. “The Se’hlk demon won’t be too difficult. Angel, you stay here and…” His eyes glanced meaningfully around them at frightened gathering.

Angel nodded quickly. “I got it.”

“I’m with you lot,” Spike said quickly, following Wesley and Gunn out of the house before they could put up a protest.

Buffy knelt beside Cordelia and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. Whatever had just happened, she was clearly still feeling the effects. She jerked away from Buffy’s touch and made a strange fist-clenching gesture. Angel grabbed the dropped bowl, flung the remaining popcorn out of the bottom, and held it under her head just in time as Cordelia vomited.

Buffy reached out to smooth Cordelia’s short hair away from her mouth and in the process her hand brushed against Angel’s, which was moving to do the same. She glanced at him, trying to catch his eye, but his gaze was focused on Cordelia. Buffy looked to Xander, who was still hovering close by, but he was looking just as horrified as anyone else in the room. Nobody had a clue what was happening here except Angel and maybe Fred, but Angel was preoccupied and Fred was curled up on the loveseat, trying to stay out of the way. Anya was the only other person sitting down; everyone else was on their feet, unsure what to do with themselves. The only person who moved was Giles, heading for the kitchen.

Angel pulled the bowl of sick out from under Cordelia’s face, setting it out of the way. Buffy tried not to pay it much attention, though she inwardly cursed her advanced sense of smell right now. Giles returned in short order with a glass of water, which he handed to Buffy. He took away the defiled bowl, hopefully to wash the contents down the garbage disposal.

“Here, Cordelia,” Buffy said quietly, handing her the glass. She took it with a murmur that may have been gratitude, though it was hard to tell. “Can I get you anything else?”

“You can make everyone stop staring at me,” Cordelia muttered, her scratchy voice sounding unlike Buffy had ever heard it before.

“I thought you liked being the center of attention,” Xander said, grinning weakly.

No one laughed.

“I want to go home,” Cordelia whispered so quietly that only Angel and Buffy heard. Her hair fell forward in her face, masking her eyes from the onlookers.

Angel looked pained. “Wes and Gunn had to take the car to Halley Park. We’ll leave as soon as they get back.”

“You can lay down in my bed until they do,” Buffy offered quickly.

Cordelia raised her head, shaking her disheveled hair out of her eyes and squaring her shoulders. In a blink, the vulnerable girl was gone, replaced by the unflappable Queen C. “Fine,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. Angel rose with her, hands hovering at catching distance in case she collapsed again. Buffy led the way up the stairs, glancing back every few steps to make sure Cordy was coming up behind her. Angel came last, trying (and failing) not to look like a worried sheepdog rounding up a sick or injured charge.

Buffy’s room was, fortunately, fairly clean at the moment; there were no typical piles of laundry or random weapons lying around. Not that Cordelia would have noticed if there were. She looked the worst Buffy had ever seen her before, and Buffy had seen her recovering in the hospital after having been impaled by a rebar. Cordelia slipped off her shoes, put her glass of water on the nightstand, and climbed gingerly onto the bed, curling up on top of the covers. Angel made a detour into the bathroom and came back with a couple of ibuprofen. Cordelia sat up as little as possible to make taking the pills easier, but when Angel made a move to support her, she raised a warning finger at him. “If you touch me right now, Angel, so help me I will break your arm.”

Angel immediately backed off, looking like a kicked puppy. “Are you o- I mean, can I...do you….?” He broke off helplessly.

“I wish Dennis were here. He doesn’t ask stupid questions,” Cordelia said, lying back down and not looking at either of them.

“Hey,” Buffy protested. “He’s just trying to help.”

“It’s okay, Buffy,” Angel said quickly.

“No, it’s not okay,” Buffy said. “You’re just being a good friend and she’s threatening to break your arm.”

“Let’s go back downstairs,” Angel said. “Cordelia, if you need anything….”

“Fine,” Cordelia muttered, turning over sharply so that her back was to the door. Buffy was startled to glimpse a flash of tears in Cordy’s eyes before she turned away.

Angel waited in the hallway for Buffy to join him. “She doesn’t mean it,” he said in a low whisper. “The visions make her weak, and she doesn’t like being weak.”

“Visions?” Buffy repeated. “Like your friend….” She couldn’t remember his name but she remembered someone mentioning him from that awful Thanksgiving when Angel had come to stalk her based on the friend’s vision. Had Buffy ever properly told Angel how Not Okay that whole stalking thing was? She couldn’t remember.

“Doyle,” Angel supplied. “Yeah, exactly.”

They went downstairs together to find more or less everyone had settled into various chairs and couches, and were talking in hushed, uncomfortable voices. They all quieted immediately when they saw Angel.

“Okay, I’ll just say it: what the hell?” Xander said.

“I wasn’t sure what to tell them,” Fred piped up. “So I didn’t say anything.”

Angel rubbed his hands together nervously. “When I first moved to L.A. I met this guy, Doyle, who these visions. The Powers That Be would send them to him when something big was about to happen or if there was someone who needed saving. That’s how we started Angel Investigations. But he, uh...he died a couple years ago and before he did he passed the visions on to Cordelia.”

“So that was, like, The Powers That Be giving us a heads up about this - this Se’hlk demon?” Willow asked.

“Basically, yeah,” Angel said.

“There are, of course, recorded instances of other humans having direct connections to The Powers, but… well, as you can imagine, the results are never very nice,” Giles said.

“Doyle was a half-demon,” Angel explained. “And even he got really bad headaches every time he had a vision. Honestly, Cordelia’s doing really well, all things considered.”

Giles eyed him levelly. “Are you sure about that?”

“Look, she’s just a little embarrassed right now,” Angel said. “She hates that the visions make her weak and she doesn’t like anyone seeing that weakness. She’ll be fine once she’s had some rest and her head stops hurting.”

“Are we even talking about the same Cordelia Chase here?” Xander asked. “Because the Cordy I know pretty much thrives on weakness. She uses it like a weapon.”

Angel bristled. “She’s not like that anymore.”

“Hey, man, I meant it as a compliment. Really! I’m just saying there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. We’re her friends,” Xander said.

“I may have some books at the shop that have detailed accounts of the last known human Seer. I’ll set them aside tomorrow and see what I can find,” Giles said.

“What, uh… what about a Scryan Circle?” Jonathan ventured hesitantly.

“Ohhhhh, yes!” Willow cried. “With a few modifications that could work.”

“What’s a Scryan Circle?” Buffy asked.

“It’s a small pendant meant to be worn by someone who suffers from chronic illnesses,” Willow explained. “It’s supposed to help with the symptoms, like you can customise it for whichever are the worst. In Cordy’s case that would be the headaches and the nausea, I’m guessing.”

“Actually, she doesn’t throw up that often,” Angel said. “Mostly it’s the headaches and, uh, sometimes she gets joint pains because she can feel what is happening to the victim inside of her.”

It took a moment for those words to sink in.

“You mean she just experienced what it feels like to be ripped apart by a Se’hlk demon?” Anya asked.

“No wonder she vommed,” Xander said.

“H-how is she now?” Tara asked. “I m-mean is she comfortable? Does she need anything?”

Angel shrugged helplessly. “She doesn’t like being fussed over after a vision. She either likes to keep busy or relax at home with just Dennis.”

“Wait, back up,” Buffy said. “Cordelia also said something about this Dennis guy. Who’s he?”

Angel did not answer for a moment, just stared at Buffy as if...perplexed? There was a look of distress in his eyes that Buffy did not understand.

“Dennis is Cordy’s ghost roomie,” Fred said quietly when it seemed that Angel wasn’t going to say anything.

“Come again?” Xander said.

“Dennis died in Cordelia’s apartment in the ‘50s,” Angel elaborated. “He was killed by his mother and he’s been stuck there ever since. He looks after Cordelia when she’s, you know….”

He moved to one of the dining room chairs that had been brought into the living room earlier, and sat down heavily. He looked defeated. He was worried about his closest friend, but she wouldn’t accept his worry because she didn’t want to seem weak. Buffy could understand both sides; there were no rights or wrongs in cases like these. No demons to hit to make everything better - just powerful emotions that did not answer to logic.

As if Angel’s movements had broken some sort of spell, the others began shuffling around. Some moved into more comfortable positions while others distractedly reached for food. Tara disappeared for a moment and returned with a broom for the spilled popcorn. There wasn’t much talk other than a few whispered questions. Whether consciously or not, they all avoided the spot where Cordelia had fallen.

Buffy understood maybe better than anyone else in the house right now what Cordelia was feeling. Not the physical stuff, of course - Buffy’s enhanced healing kept her from feeling pain for any sustained amount of time - but the feeling of everyone’s eyes on you, waiting for you to reveal….something….when all she really wanted was to just move on without making a big deal out of it. The feeling of wanting to be okay so everyone would stop whispering about her behind her back, but really not being okay at all and physically unable to hide it.

The feeling of being completely alone in the world because no one else had been through what she had.

Buffy moved towards the stairs, not really sure what she intended to do, but knowing she had to do something.

Angel grabbed her by the wrist before she could take more than a dozen steps.

“How much have we missed?” he asked.

The question was enough of a non-sequitor to pull Buffy out of her thoughts. “Huh?” she asked eloquently.

“How much have we missed about each other’s lives in the last two years because we haven’t been talking to each other? Doyle’s death, the visions, Dennis...Gunn has been working with us for over a year but you only met him a few weeks ago. Or when Harmony came to L.A. last spring, we had no idea she was a vampire until Cordelia called Willow.”

Buffy fought the urge to roll her eyes. Leave it to Angel to get all maudlin over something so inconsequential. “It’s okay that we don’t know every detail about each other’s lives. That’s what conversations are for. How can I tell you the really awesome story about how Giles’ douchehole friend turned him into a demon for a day if you already know all about it?”

“I know but - wait, really?”

“Yeah,” Buffy said, disentangling her wrist from Angel’s grip. “You should ask Giles about it. He loves that story.” She resumed course for the stairs.

“Don’t go up there, Buffy,” Angel warned. “You know what Cordelia is like when she gets angry.”

Buffy ignored him. She climbed the stairs as quietly as she could, in case Cordelia had fallen asleep. If she was, Buffy would leave her to rest until the boys returned with the car. If she wasn’t… well, Buffy hadn’t thought that far ahead, but she wanted Cordelia to know she wasn’t alone.

Cordelia, in fact, had not fallen asleep - when Buffy walked into the bedroom she was surprised to find Cordelia not only alert, but standing at the mirror over Buffy’s dresser, putting on Buffy’s makeup.

“Hey!” Buffy said, startled. “That’s mine.”

Cordelia pulled the lip liner away from her mouth to answer. “I know, and you’re the completely wrong complexion but it’ll have to do. Willow would be an even worse match and I doubt Dawn has what I need.”

“Um, okay, but why exactly do you need to use someone’s makeup?” Buffy asked.

Cordelia finished with the liner and picked up Buffy’s darkest shade of lipstick. “Because my purse is still downstairs,” she said like Buffy’s was being intentionally stupid. “And I can’t show my face downstairs until it no longer looks like I had a bad encounter with a steamroller.”

“Are you sure you-”

“No,” Cordelia interrupted, finally turning to face Buffy. “No, you do not get to go all Angel on me about this. I’m a big girl; I make my own decisions. And I’m not going to ruin everyone’s good time just because the PTB gave me a surround sound experience of what it’s like to be eviscerated and decapitated at the same time.”

“Did the ibuprofen help?” Buffy asked.

Cordelia was quiet for a moment, considering the question - no, considering whether or not to tell Buffy the truth. Because Buffy could see it written in the lines on her face: the ibuprofen hadn’t done a single bit of good and it had been a long time since mere over-the-counter painkillers had any more effect than assuaging the minds of her friends. “No,” Cordelia said at last. “But I really don’t want to miss Xander having to watch _Shakespeare in Love_.”

Buffy smiled and came over to Cordelia. “Here,” she said, reaching for a different tube of lipstick. “This one doesn’t match your skin tone but it lasts longer and won’t dry out your lips like that one will.”

“Thank you,” Cordelia said softly, taking the lipstick from her.

“It’s no trouble,” Buffy replied. She had a feeling they weren’t talking about the lipstick, but she didn’t ask for any clarification. She watched Cordelia finish touching up her makeup with smooth, practiced movements. With every stroke she settled herself into her familiar persona: cool, collected Cordelia who didn’t have time for anyone’s nonsense - not even The Powers That Be. Buffy sat on the edge of the bed, giving her pointers on which colours would be the closest to what Cordelia might normally use.

By the time they descended the stairs together, conversation had returned to normal, though the living room fell silent when they saw Cordelia. Angel rose uncertainly to his feet, an unspoken question in his eyes.

“Alright, are we gonna start this thing or what?” Cordelia asked. If Buffy hadn’t known that she was still in extraordinary amounts of pain, she would have thought there was nothing the matter with Cordelia.

“I thought you wanted to go home,” Willow said, frowning. “I-I-I mean not that it’s not okay if you want to stay, just, uh, Angel said…”

“I changed my mind,” Cordelia said breezily. “It’s my prerogative as a woman.”

Xander tutted loudly. “And here I thought it was a woman’s prerogative to have a little fun. Damn you, Shania, for lying to me all this time.”

“Women have a lot of prerogatives,” Dawn informed him. “It’s our prerogative to have as many as we want.”

“Here, Cordelia, why don’t you sit on the couch,” Tara said, standing up. “I don’t mind sitting on a beanbag chair.”

“Aww, I thought we were gonna snuggle and makeout during the sexy scenes,” Willow said.

“We can still do that down here,” Tara said, flopping down on a beanbag chair. “It’ll just be a little squishier.”

“Oh, the places my mind just went,” Xander muttered, causing Tara to turn bright red and Willow to smack him in the arm.

Cordelia might not want a huge fuss to be made over her, but she was willing to take the space offered because couch space was considered premium seating on movie nights. Angel slid into the spot Willow had just vacated and leaned over to murmur something that only Cordelia could hear. She shook her head and said something back, then poked him playfully - if a bit roughly - in the ribs. He smiled at her.

“Should we start the movie without the others?” Buffy asked.

“I don’t know,” Willow said. “It was Spike’s choice after all, but it’s getting kinda late.”

“Do you think they’re okay just the three of them?” Tara wondered.

“They’re probably fine,” Anya said. “Se’hlks wreak a gory havoc but are big wimps in the end. One experienced fighter on his own might have trouble but three should be fine. Unless, of course, the Se’hlk gets in a lucky shot, which is always a possibility,” she added cheerfully.

“Thank you for that, um, reassurance, Anya,” Giles said.

“You’re welcome!”

Before anyone could say anything else, the front door slammed open and Wes, Gunn, and Spike tumbled in, exclaiming exuberantly at each other in loud voice. Wes and Gunn quieted down when they saw Cordelia, but Spike bounced right over to her, grinning madly. “You,” he said, pointing a finger down at her. “You are bloody brilliant, you are. How did you know about that? Never mind, doesn’t matter - the real question is how often do you get these vision thingies? Once, twice a week? Can you try to have them more often here in Sunnydale? Man, just think of it! No more having to go out patrolling - you’d know the when and the where and we’d take care of the rest it would be -”

Buffy smacked the back of his head as hard as she could. Angel looked ready to commit murder. Cordelia, to her credit, was just staring at Spike like he was the world’s biggest idiot.

“Sit down and shut up so we can start the movie already,” Buffy commanded.

Spike obeyed, though not without a lot of grumbling and exaggerated rubbing of his head where Buffy had hit him.

“Move over, Angel,” Cordelia said. She patted the open area on her side not occupied by Angel. “Buffy, sit.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow at her but did as she was told. It was snug on the couch with Angel, Cordelia, Buffy, and Dawn all squished together, but no one seemed to mind (except Angel, who was looking kind of fidgety). Buffy leaned back, feeling the tension of the day drain out of her as Jonathan used the remote to set the VHS player up and get the movie started. Cordelia’s shoulder pressed up against hers, a comfortingly solid presence.


	6. Dawn's Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pairings: None  
> This chapter's rating: Teen  
> Warnings: Warren

“But then in the end it all gets reset back to how it was before and no one remembers, so it’s kind of a letdown considering Kes mentioned the ‘year of hell’ concept way back in season three before she left so you get this huge build-up to something that in the end doesn’t really go anywhere but...”

“Breathe,” Dawn reminded Andrew idly, not really paying attention.

Andrew took a deep breath and continued. “But still even if it didn’t really affect the crew, ‘Year of Hell’ is still an amazing arc within the series but Jonathan still insists that The Next Generation is a better series. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love it just as much as anyone and Picard is awesome and Riker is definitely the best First Officer other than Spock, but Janeway totally kicks ass as captain. Plus Tom is so cool. If I were in Starfleet, I’d be a pilot like him,” Andrew said, a dreamy sparkle in his eye as he stared off into the distance.

“Sounds like a good plan,” Dawn said. “Here, what do you think about this one?” Dawn held up a midnight blue spaghetti-strap dress.

Andrew squinted at it contemplatively. “Mayyyyyyyybe,” he said. “It’s a good backup plan but should not be your first choice. You need something with a little more fire, like…” He zipped through several of the dresses hanging on the rack, barely glancing at them before he found what he was looking for: a deep red halter dress with several fake gemstones clustered in the middle of the collar. It was a long, elegant-looking dress, and would bring out a deep auburn to her hair that was normally subsumed under all the brown.

“You really think this would look good on me?” Dawn asked, a little in awe of the dress as she took it from Andrew and held it up to her body.

“Totally. But you should still try both dresses on to see which one you like better. Are you getting your hair done too?” Andrew asked, riffling through a few more dresses to see if there was anything he had missed.

“Willow’s going to do it for me,” Dawn said. “Nothing too fancy, probably just some curls and maybe a little bit of braiding.”

“Hmm.” Andrew cocked his head, trying to envision it. “Okay, good. Here, take this one too.” He held out a black knee-length dress that was simple but with the right accessories would look devastatingly good. “Can’t go wrong with black, but I have a feeling the red is going to win. Get a little, um, spice?”

Dawn snorted. Her sister would probably argue that the last thing Dawn needed was more spice, but Buffy wasn’t here right now. She was back at the house or else at The Magic Box doing Slayer stuff or whatever. It didn’t matter to Dawn; all she cared about was that Buffy had allowed her to get a new dress for the Homecoming Dance. Dawn knew money was tight right now, but something seemed to have changed in the last week or so that had made Buffy relax a little bit with financial concerns, though she refused to tell Dawn what had inspired the change. Dawn certainly wasn’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth - or gift dress for that matter.

Dawn took the three dresses to the fitting room attendant, who looked them over and handed her a numbered tag. “Wait there,” Dawn said to Andrew, pointing at a chair just outside the dressing rooms. “I’ll come show you what each one looks like, okay?”

“Fiiiiine,” Andrew said, throwing himself dramatically into the chair. He leaned over and gave the attendant a pleading look. “Can I go in if I promise to keep my eyes closed except to look at Dawn’s dresses?”

The attendant gave him a bewildered look (something Dawn was quickly coming to find most people did around Andrew at least once the first time they met him). “No,” she said firmly.

“Hey, tell the other ladies in there I give really good fashion advice if they wanna show me what they’re trying on,” Andrew said to Dawn. Dawn chose not to point out some of the more ridiculous things she had seen him wear in the last few weeks.

“Your boyfriend’s being a little creepy,” the attendant said to Dawn in a quiet tone. Dawn hoped she didn’t get the bright idea to call security and get them kicked out before she even had a chance to try on the red dress.

“He’s not a skeeve, I promise. He just gets bored easily and likes giving people opinions, whether they asked for them or not,” Dawn said.

The attendant did not look entirely convinced, but Dawn ducked into the dressing room before she could say anything else.

She tried the blue one first, marvelling in the silk material that clung to her body. When she went out to model it for Andrew, he gave a thumbs up and repeated that it would make a good second choice. Dawn stuck her tongue out at him and flounced back into the dressing room to put on the black dress. It fit okay, but didn’t flatter her figure the way the first one had. Andrew also shook his head when he saw it. Definitely not.

But the red dress - oh, the red dress was perfect. She knew it as soon as she stepped into it and pulled it up her body. It fit like a glove and accentuated all the right places: her long neck, her dainty shoulders, as well as other...assets. She wanted to cry she looked so beautiful - almost as beautiful as Buffy.

Dawn walked out to the waiting area, careful not to step on the dress’ long skirt. Even with her long legs, she’d need to get a good pair of heels to keep the skirt off the floor. Andrew gasped when he saw her - and for once it wasn’t a overdramatic Andrewesque gasp. He inhaled sharply but quietly and held his breath for a moment. “You look amazing,” he said.

Dawn blushed. “Thank you.”

“You look like Seven of Nine that time she had dancing lessons except she didn’t wear red and really you look nothing like Seven of Nine except you’re both very beautiful, but still the point stands,” Andrew said, returning to his normal vibrancy in the space of half a moment. “Okay, come here.” He dragged her over to the full-length mirror mounted on the wall just outside the entrance to the ladies’ dressing area. “What if you do your hair up?” With a deft flick of his wrist, Andrew twisted her hair up so that it was off her shoulders. “Hey, that actually looks really good. You could get a necklace, too. And stop slouching, you gotta stand up straight, really pop those, um...shoulders.”

Dawn blushed harder. “Pop the shoulders. Got it.” She eased her hair out of Andrew’s gentle grip. “I have a necklace that will work but I’ll need a pair of shoes. Cordelia’s going to lend me a shawl as soon as I let her know what colour my dress is, and I think Buffy has a purse that will match. Wait,” she said suddenly, grabbing the price tag. “Ouch. Never mind. We’ll go with the blue one after all.”

Andrew glanced at the tag. “No big,” he said. “You can’t put a price tag on true beauty.”

“I’m pretty sure Cordelia would disagree with you. Not to mention only every other person in the world.” Dawn glared at him suspiciously. “How much of a budget did my sister give us?”

Andrew fussed with the back of the dress, straightening it where it didn’t need to be straightened. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”

“But enough for this dress and a pair of shoes?”

“Um… yes?”

“Why are you saying it like a question?” Dawn demanded.

“I don’t know how much the shoes are going to cost yet,” Andrew whined. “I think we have enough money but I don’t know.”

“The shoes will probably cost almost as much as the dress,” Dawn told him.

Andrew’s eyes widened as if he could not imagine what such expensive shoes could possibly look like. He looked troubled for a moment, then grinned. “It’ll be fine. We’ll make it work.”

“Really?” Dawn asked, her hopes lifting.

“Of course. Andrew Wells: Master Budgeter at your service. When I was evil, I did all of our budgeting and financial stuff,” Andrew said.

“No, you didn’t,” Dawn replied. Spend enough time with Andrew and you could start to pinpoint the little white lies that rolled off his tongue so easily.

“Okay, maybe not all of it, but I helped. A bit.” Andrew crossed his arms over his chest and pouted.

“Besides,” Dawn continued, turning back to the mirror, “you and Jonathan and that jackass Warren guy weren’t even all that evil. Is there a word for people who are only slightly evil? Besides ‘annoying’?”

“We were too evil,” Andrew protested. “We did lots of bad stuff.”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. What’s the worst thing you guys did?”

Andrew rocked from side to side as if shaking his head but with his whole body. “I’m not allowed to tell you because the Slayer thinks you’ll get bad ideas.”

She fought the urge to sigh or yell. Did Buffy really think Dawn wouldn’t be able to put two and two together? Or Andrew for that matter? Point One: money had been tight, but about a week ago when Jonathan and Andrew confessed what they had been up to recently before joining the Scooby Gang, suddenly there was enough cash for Dawn to have a new dress and shoes to match. Point Two: Buffy had witnessed a M’Fashnik demon robbing a bank during the time frame when the so-called “Trio” had been active. Point Three: Andrew was an expert on demon summoning. Point Four: Andrew was here helping her pick out said dress and shoes, instead of Buffy. Not that Dawn was ungrateful to him for doing so; it was just she was sick of her sister acting like Dawn was still a little kid who didn’t know anything about the world.

Still, on another level, it didn’t make sense. The Buffy from a year ago - the Buffy who Dawn had known her entire life - would have made the boys return the money to the bank and deal with the consequences. This change...it worried her.

Dawn went to put on her street clothes, and brought everything out to hand off the rejects and carry the red dress away. They stopped at the in-store shoe department, but several minutes of browsing yielded no results. They took a short break to call Cordelia to get an idea of what they ought to be looking for. As soon as she heard about the vibrant red of the dress, Cordelia went into outfit-planning mode.

“Okay, I have the _perfect_ shawl for that. It’s a dark burgundy with brighter red designs, so you’ll want to get shoes to match the burgundy. Black will do in a pinch but I’d avoid going that dark if you can help it.”

“We’ll go to the shoe boutique and see what we can find,” Dawn said to Andrew after she closed her mobile.

“Let’s go get some food first,” Andrew whined. “I’m hungry.”

Dawn perked up. “Giant pretzels and smoothies? My treat.”

They took the dress up to one of the registers so that Andrew could pay for it. Dawn watched the man at the counter carefully pull one of those large dress bags over it, making sure it was completely covered before handing it over to Dawn, who could barely contain a delighted squeal. Andrew pulled several bills out of his wallet and handed them over like it was no big deal. If her arms hadn’t been full of fabric and plastic at the moment, Dawn would have hugged him; instead she settled for bouncing on the balls of her feet and thanking him repeatedly. Instead of waving off her gratitude like humbler person would have, Andrew basked in the gratitude, making out like he had achieved some great feat today by obtaining a dress at the mall.

They made their way to the food court. Now that she had the dress in her arms, Dawn was beginning to regret this decision. True, it was covered in plastic, but there were so many ways a smoothie could get spilled on a dress - not to mention the fact that every flat surface in the immediate vicinity had a distinct stickiness about it.

Andrew was too busy debating smoothie flavours out loud to notice her trepidation. “Do you think Banana Berry or Pineapple Pleasure sounds better?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Dawn said, too distracted to pay any attention. “Whatever you like better I guess.”

“Well, what are you getting? If we both get something we both like we can share,” Andrew offered.

“I’m not going to get a smoothie,” Dawn said. “I don’t want to accidentally spill it.”

Andrew pursed his lips, thinking this over carefully. “Here,” he said after a moment, lifting the dress from her arms. Dawn felt a surge of panic: if any of the Scoobies was more accident prone than Dawn, it was definitely Andrew. But he did not simply hold the dress - he draped it over his shoulders like an immense and unwieldy scarf. “There,” he said, waving his hands to demonstrate. “Both hands still free, and if I drop my smoothie there’s less chance it’ll land on the dress. Though I think he did a good job wrapping it and a spill wouldn’t -”

“Well now there is an interesting look. Is that how all the kids are wearing their clothes these days?”

Andrew paled, recognising the voice immediately without turning around. Dawn peered over his shoulder at the speaker - a somewhat dweeby, rodent-faced man with hair that was overly styled to look casual. Dawn had never seen this guy before, but based on Andrew’s reaction she knew exactly who he was.

This was bad. This was very very bad.

Andrew turned to face Warren and positioned himself so that he was standing shoulder to shoulder next to Dawn. “What are you doing here?” he asked, trying to sound tough. Dawn could feel him trembling when his shoulder brushed up against hers.

Warren spread his hands, the picture of innocence. “Last I checked, the mall is a public place that anyone can come to. I have just as much right to be here as you do.”

“Well we...we have the right to, uh, to ignore you and so that, um, is what we’re going to do,” Andrew stammered, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. He grabbed Dawn’s hand. “Come on, Dawnie. We - we should go...do that thing….we have to do.”

“What, you don’t have a moment to catch up with your old friend?” Warren asked, taking a step towards them. Dawn automatically stepped backwards and Andrew stumbled with her. “You know, I wasn’t all that surprised when Jonathan defected - he always was a bit of a weasel - but you? I thought you were my friend, Andrew.”

Dawn squeezed Andrew’s hand. “If you were really Andrew’s friend, you would give him the space to make his own decisions,” she said to Warren.

Warren gave her a dead-eyed glare. “If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Andrew exclaimed.

Warren glanced down at their intertwined hands and looked back up at Andrew’s face, smirking. “Sorry, buddy. I didn’t mean to snap at your girlfriend. But I wonder...does she know who you really are? Does she know the plans we made when we were hanging out together this summer? The whole plot to be...evil together?”

Andrew lifted his chin defiantly, though his mouth was trembling. “Yes. Jonathan and I came clean about everything a-a-and we’ve been forgiven. We’re good guys now.”

“Absolved and washed clean of your sins by Saint Buffy,” Warren said, the smirk still lingering on his lips. Dawn wondered if it had been permanently placed there by surgery. “I’m very proud of you, Andrew. Tell me, how long do you think it’ll last?”

Andrew frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t listen to him,” Dawn warned. This wasn’t good. The mall wasn’t all that busy right now, but if there was a confrontation things could get messy quickly. And Warren could be hiding any number of technological nasties on himself. They weren’t at a point where they needed the Slayer - yet.

“By all means, Andrew, don’t listen to me,” Warren said amicably. “I’m only the person who knows you best in the entire world. I know what you’re really like underneath everything. I know things about you not even Jonathan knows. I understand you - I get you. I can give you all the power you need to fulfill your potential. And I know that people like you...and like me… we’re not good guys. We might pretend to be - and we might even succeed for a little while - but in the end, we’ll come back to where we’re meant to be.”

“That’s not true,” Andrew said in a soft but insistent voice. “I’m good now.”

“You never had a chance,” Warren said sympathetically. “It’s in your blood. Look at your brother -”

“I am better than my brother,” Andrew yelled, causing several people to turn around and stare at them. “I thought, like...maybe I could talk some sense into you, and you and me...and Jonathan...we could be the Trio again but like the good Trio? You know? Jonathan said I was being naive but I still hoped maybe it was true.” He said all this in a rush, like it was poison inside him he had to get out quickly. “But he was right. Dawn’s right. If you really are my friend you wouldn’t always be trying to manipulate me and make me think things that aren’t true. I can be good.” Tears welled up in his eyes, but he stood tall and held Warren’s gaze. Dawn could no longer feel her fingers for how hard he was gripping her hand.

The change in Warren’s demeanour was so instantaneous that Dawn barely had time to register the twisted look on his face before his fist landed on Andrew’s cheek. Andrew fell to his knees as much from shock as from the blow itself, though it had definitely been strong enough to bloody his nose. The dress slid from his shoulders to puddle onto the floor. Warren pulled away from them, shaking his hand out and hissing in pain.

Dawn didn’t even think, she just launched herself straight at him with an angry cry. Warren, still focused on his hand, was caught off guard and nearly thrown off balance, but he recovered enough to shove Dawn off and point some small metallic device at her. Before she could recover her wits enough to move out of the way, she felt a sensation flow through her limbs like they were suddenly made of liquid. She tried to lift her hand but it ascended with all the speed of a tortoise stuck in a sea of molasses.

“What did you do to her?” Andrew cried, ducking as Warren pointed the device at him next. Dawn was relieved to find out that whatever he had done to her hadn’t affected the speed at which her tympanic membranes vibrated, so she could still hear normally. Andrew threw himself bodily at Warren, sending the both of them tumbling into a table and causing Warren to lose his grip on the device. “Put her back to normal, you evil jerkface!”

Dawn tried to get her limbs to move faster so she could grab the device before Warren got his hands back on it, but the harder she tried the slower she moved. It was like quicksand but in reverse.

“Get off of me, you ugly stupid oaf,” Warren roared. A crowd was drawing around them now, some of the people cheering them on while others yelled for them to stop. No one stepped in to break them up or help the girl who had apparently lost control of her muscles, however, until a minute later when two overweight mall rent-a-cops showed up. They waddled over, panting, and grabbed Andrew by the shoulders, hauling him off Warren. One kept hold of Andrew while the other dragged Warren to his feet by the scruff of his neck.

Both boys had several bruises beginning to show, and Warren had a split lip. As soon as they were pulled apart, the fight went out of them, and Andrew was left looking sheepish and upset, while Warren had a gleam in his eye. “That boy attacked me for no reason, officers,” he declared loudly.

“Nuh uh,” piped up the employee at the smoothie stand, who had witnessed the whole thing. “This guy threw the first punch. And he did something to the other guy’s girlfriend - look, she can barely move.”

“She’s not my girlfriend - she means nothing to me,” Andrew yelled, and then burst into tears.

“Alright, you two,” the officer holding Warren said. “You’re gonna come cool down in our office and we’ll see what we’re gonna do with ya.”

There was a brief moment of confusion as the officers tried to figure out what they were going to do with the girl who couldn’t move. “Undo whatever you did, kid,” the second officer said to Warren.

“It’s irreversible,” he declared, but seeing that this wasn’t going to win him any favours, he amended, “but it will wear off in a few minutes. I don’t know exactly how long. Trial runs wore off anywhere between five minutes to half an hour.”

“Maybe you could carry her while I take these two?” the first officer suggested to his colleague. But that wouldn’t work because of some rule about a male security guard touching a female witness or some nonsense. The smoothie stand employee said he had a dolly they could use, and thus came about the most humiliating moment of Dawn’s life as she was carefully manoeuvred onto a dolly and wheeled down to the mall’s security offices by one guard while the other dragged Warren and Andrew along behind them, Andrew still sobbing and sniffling. The only redeeming thing was that one of the guards had thought to grab her dress off the floor as well as Warren’s small metallic device.

\--

By the time Buffy arrived to pick Dawn and Andrew up, Dawn could more or less move normally again. Warren had already been released with a stern warning that if he was ever involved in any more disturbances at the mall he would be banned. Andrew was also technically free to go with the same warning (once he had finally calmed down enough to give his statement), but Dawn had to stay until her legal guardian came to pick her up. Andrew refused to leave without her.

“What the hell happened?” Buffy demanded, storming into the office and rounding on Andrew. “You were supposed to take her to the mall for a dress, not a fistfight.”

“We got the dress,” Andrew said, missing the point entirely.

“It wasn’t Andrew’s fault,” Dawn told her sister. “Warren showed up with this crazy stun gun thing.”

“Warren?” Buffy’s whole demeanour changed at the mention of his named. She no longer looked like she was going to punch Andrew herself, but a new wariness crept over her. “Is he still here? Did he hurt you, Dawn?”

“No, I’m okay now,” she said, flexing her fingers to prove her point. “He left, but… I don’t think we’ve dealt with him for the last time.” She sneaked a glance at Andrew, who had lowered his face and was refusing to look at either sister. “He tried to make Andrew feel all guilty for abandoning him and when Andrew stood up to him, he went ballistic.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows, surprised. “You stood up to him?” she asked Andrew, laying an awkward but gentle hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “Good. That’s really good, Andrew. I’m proud of you.”

“I did, though,” Andrew said hollowly.

Buffy shot a bewildered look at Dawn, but Dawn was just as confused. “Did what?” Dawn asked.

“I abandoned him,” Andrew insisted. “I totally pulled a Jake Sisko and ran away just because things got a little scary.”

One of the security guards was still watching them from behind his desk. Buffy glanced at him. “I don’t suppose we can have a moment alone with our friend here?” she tried.

“Nope,” the guard said.

Buffy sat down next to Andrew, keeping her hand on his shoulder. “You did abandon him,” she acknowledged. “And I don’t know much about Star Wars -”

“Trek,” Andrew corrected. “Deep Space Nine. Jake Sisko is-”

“I don’t know much about Star Trek,” Buffy said, her voice rising over Andrew’s, “but I’m going to go out on a limb here and say this situation is nothing like what Jake Sisko was facing. Was he running away from a so-called ‘friend’ who only wanted to use him and would throw him to the wolves if given half a chance?”

“No, he was running away from a bloody battlefield,” Andrew said.

Buffy made a skeptical face. “Yeah, those are two _very_ different situations. Warren isn’t some helpless puppy you heartlessly tossed onto the side of the road to fend for himself. You didn’t abandon him so much as cut off a cancerous growth that would have overwhelmed and killed you without a second thought.”

“But he was my friend,” Andrew whined.

“And now we’re your friends. Me and Dawn and Xander and Tara and Willow and all the others. And Jonathan. So don’t think of it as abandoning Warren so much as being accepted into a better, healthier family. Well, mostly healthier. We’ve also got our problems,” Buffy said, a shadow passing over her face.

Andrew rubbed his red eyes and sniffled. “I’m a Scooby now?”

“Of course,” Buffy said. “In fact, before I forget, Wesley called The Magic Box earlier asking what book you found information about a… Ternock? Terlach? Ter-something demon in. Didn’t sound like any particular rush, but Giles couldn’t remember and we figured it’s easier to ask you than to go through dozens of compendiums and encyclopedias and other big words for ‘book.’ Now, can we get out of here? This place is giving me the wig.”

She stood up, and Dawn and Andrew followed suit. Andrew wasn’t quite back to his usual cheerful self (if he were, he’d be rambling about demonology and/or the most recent episode of Star Trek: Enterprise right now), but he was looking more relaxed and sure of himself than he had just a few minutes ago. As Buffy led the way out of the security office, Andrew tapped Dawn on the shoulder.

“I didn’t mean what I said. A-about you meaning nothing to me. I don’t know why I said that. Other than Jonathan, you’re my closest friend,” Andrew said.

Dawn gave him a sympathetic smile. “I understand. And it’s okay - we all say things we don’t mean sometimes. I won’t take it personally if you promise not to take it personally if I ever say something mean to you.”

“Deal,” Andrew said solemnly, holding out his pinky for Dawn to take.

“Pinky swear? Really?” Dawn asked.

“It’s a very sacred ritual,” Andrew said. “If you break a pinky swear, you’ll have to face all sorts of horrific and unimaginable things.”

“Fine,” Dawn said. She shifted her dress so that she could free up her hand and hooked her pinky around his. “Hey, do you think we can get Buffy to buy us smoothies before we leave?”

“Not if I leave without you,” Buffy called over her shoulder.

They hurried to catch up to her, giggling and teasing each other. Still, Dawn couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that they had not heard the last from Warren.


	7. Giles' Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pairings: Canon pairings implied, nonexplicit  
> This chapter's rating: Teen  
> Warnings: Death mention - Jenny Calendar

“So this is what it’s like to be a full-fledged Scooby, huh?” Jonathan asked, picking up the next book in a rather large pile.

“Yup,” Tara replied, scanning absentmindedly through yet another book. “Were you expecting something else?”

Jonathan shrugged. “Fighting dastardly fiends? Racing to stop the apocalypse - again. That sort of thing. Kinda like our high school graduation but every day.”

“Sadly, we only get that level of apocalypsity once or twice a year,” Willow informed him. “As for the dastardly fiends, we can’t fight them unless we know what we’re up against. And even then, it’s usually up to the Slayer to do the actual fighting, since, you know, super strength and all? Mostly we’re just here for the research.”

“And the fringe benefits,” Xander added, his voice muffled by the book that his face was currently resting on. He lifted his head slightly. “Although usually we do research for demons that are direct threats to us, not over a hundred miles south. Since when have we become Angel’s personal R&D team?”

Giles passed by the table on yet another endless circuit around the shop. He was only half listening to what was going on at the round table - after years of spending time with this group, he had learned when to tune in and when it was probably best not to. “Wesley said Andrew specifically mentioned the Terrock clan last week when they were discussing Shnek demons. But since Andrew is otherwise occupied and I can’t for the life of me remember what book I’ve read about Shneks in before, we’re at a bit of an impasse for the time being. Everyone at Angel Investigations is also researching this because the Terrocks are either the more peaceful clan or the more violent one. No one can remember.”

“And if they’re the violent ones, then this deal Angel is supposed to strike with them could actually be a trap?” Willow asked.

“Yes, precisely,” Giles replied, closing the book he was holding and picking up a different one off the unread pile.

“When is this deal supposed to go down?” Xander asked.

“Day after tomorrow,” Giles said.

Xander lifted his head fully to stare at him. “Okay, I know I don’t know much about girly stuff, but I’m pretty sure taking a teenage girl to the mall to buy a dress won’t take more than 24 hours at the most. Why are we not just waiting for Andrew to come back? Or better yet, one of us can go to the mall and just ask him. You know, I hear they even have these nifty devices these days that lets you talk to a person even when they’re all the way across town.”

Giles sighed. “I would rather not have to drag Andrew into this unless absolutely necessary. His knowledge of demons has proved troublesome for him in the past, leading him down a path that could have only ended poorly. The less we involve him directly with these sorts of matters, the better.”

“Oh, please,” Xander scoffed. “You just don’t want him around because you find him annoying.”

Giles’ mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “I would never say such a thing,” he managed at last.

“No, because you’re too British to say it out loud, but I know you’re thinking it. But you also find me annoying all the time, and yet here I am while Andrew is at the mall right now, probably eating a soft pretzel or drinking an iced mocha frappuccino while Dawnie does her thing.” A dreamy look crossed over Xander’s face, hopefully at the thought of an iced mocha frappuccino and not about Dawn trying on dresses.

Giles rubbed his eyes under his glasses with one hand. “Very well, you all can go. And if you see Andrew, tell him we need that information.”

Xander pressed his palms together in mock prayer. “Bless you, my son,” he said to Giles, who ignored him. Willow and Tara gathered up their stuff and left with Xander; none of them seemed to notice Jonathan hadn’t followed behind them.

Giles cleared his throat awkwardly. “I don’t find Andrew annoying,” he said.

Jonathan shrugged, still intent on the book he was reading. “It’s okay if you do. He annoys me all the time.”

Giles smiled slightly. “His heart is in the right place.”

“Uh, yeah. I guess so.”

Giles waited an extra moment for Jonathan to realise he was the only one left, but the boy was so absorbed in his book that he didn’t even notice Giles hovering just a few feet away. Giles cleared his throat again. “You, uh, you can also go. It’s a beautiful day out.”

Jonathan glanced at the front door and then up at Giles. “Actually, do you mind if I stay here for a while? This stuff is fascinating, and my, uh… my asthma’s been acting up recently. I’ve been using a Scryan Circle to keep it under control, but I think the runes are fading. I should have touched them up when I was making Cordy’s.”

“No no, I don’t mind at all,” Giles assured him. The shop was quiet, and while normally Giles would take times like this to enjoy the solitude, he did not mind having Jonathan to keep him company. The young man was a lot like Giles himself: quiet, thoughtful, but fiercely loyal to those who were loyal to him. He might shrug and admit to being annoyed by Andrew, but if someone were to say something mean or try to hurt Andrew, Jonathan would be the first to come to his defense. Giles wondered if Andrew even knew how lucky he was; for Jonathan’s sake, he hoped so.

“There are more books in the loft and in the basement. And in the training room.” Giles paused, thinking. “There are pretty much books everywhere here. If you need anything in particular, just let me know. I’m going to work on a few things.”

“Thanks, I will,” Jonathan assured him.

Just then elderly Mr. Sanders entered the shop looking for some herbs and a book he had special ordered a week ago. Giles assisted him, retrieving the items from behind the counter and getting caught up in a conversation about the benefits versus detriments of Angelica Root. Mr. Sanders was notorious in The Magic Box and around town in general for his verboseness, sometimes waylaying shopkeepers and clerks for up to an hour. Fortunately, his timing was impeccable as he usually chose the least busy time of the week to do his shopping.

After Mr. Sanders left, a young couple entered, and then a small group of teenagers. The shop gradually began to fill up, but not to the point where Giles felt the need to call in Anya for assistance. At some point, Jonathan had disappeared from the round table; Giles spotted him up in the loft, nose buried in yet another book. The boy certainly had an unlimited capacity for reading.

The shop emptied out again, and Giles took a moment to sit at his desk and look over the finances. The shop was doing so well, no small thanks to Anya and the rest of the help the Scoobies provided. But mostly Anya. She had a keen knack for retail, although sometimes she didn’t know quite when to back down. She would have done fine on her own, though, if Giles had followed through on his plans to move back to England.

He should have. He had been all set, just about everything packed up and ready to go, but he had not left. He could not bring himself to do it. He had still been needed here - that much had been made clear when Dawn ran away to Los Angeles in a desperate plea for attention. And then once Buffy was back, there was no way he could just leave her on her own, especially with how tight finances were. She needed to stand on her own, yes this was true. But every time he tried to pull away, something brought him back again. Invariably and persistently.

There was a minor scuffling sound up in the loft. Giles looked up, but Jonathan had merely been changing position. He was kneeling on the floor, a few different books spread open in front of him and was scanning them intently, a deep frown creasing his brow. Giles stood up, stretching, and set about making enough tea for the both of them. It was starting to get late, and Giles could use the pick-me-up, though Jonathan still looked like he could go on for hours.

Giles had just finished measuring the tea leaves when a loud thump on the shop floor made him whirl around, ready for danger. It took him a moment to register that the thump had come from a book that had fallen haphazardly to the floor from the loft. Looking up, Giles realised no - the book hadn’t fallen, it had been thrown. Jonathan stood at the loft rail, glaring down at him and taking deep, ragged breaths.

“He killed her,” Jonathan croaked between gasps. “He killed Miss Calendar.”

Giles’ face did not betray his building sense of dread as he carefully moved forward to pick up the book. Now that he could see the cover, he recognised it at once: it was his own diary from a few years ago. He cursed himself for his own stupidity. After the incident with Dawn reading his diary last year, Giles had been careful to keep his private notes locked away where no one would accidentally come across them. How had he missed this one?

“Where did you find this?” Giles asked mildly, his voice showing none of his trepidation.

Jonathan pointed behind himself. “It was up here on one of the shelves. I didn’t know what it was at first but then I thought since you said you’d read about Shnek demons maybe you noted it in your journal….” His voice trailed off, ending with a small hitch. “He killed her.”

Giles flipped briefly through the pages but he already knew exactly what Jonathan had seen. Two sentences in the middle of an otherwise blank page:

_Angelus killed Jenny  
I am going to kill him_

Words scrawled in an almost illegible hand. He had no memory of actually writing them - it must have been while he was still in shock, before the police arrived and took him away from questioning. Before the calm and methodical kamikaze mission to destroy Angelus. Before he woke up in a room full of fire and raging grief.

“You forgave him.” It’s not a question, exactly, but a statement dripping with disbelief.

“Yes, we did,” Giles said softly. “Jonathan, please come down here so we can talk.” He went to the front door and put up the sign that said the shop would be closed for a short break. Jonathan eased down the ladder, edging towards Giles as if he were the dangerous being to be afraid of. As if Giles’ capability for forgiveness were something to be feared. “I was just about to make some tea. I think we’ll need it.”

Jonathan sat down at the round table, hunching his shoulders as if trying to disappear into himself. “How?”

Giles checked the amount of water in his electric kettle; there was just enough for two cups. He’d have to refill it later but right now it would have to do. “How were we able to forgive him, you mean?”

“Yes - well, partly. How could you forgive him but also how can you stand to see his face in Buffy’s house every week? How can you do research for him so that he doesn’t end up falling into some demonic trap? How can you let Cordelia work so closely with him, knowing that any moment he might turn evil and kill her?”

Giles switched on the kettle and came over to the table to wait for it to boil. He sat down heavily in the chair next to Jonathan. “I think you might not have the whole picture,” he said. “Angel was cursed to regain his soul so that he would know and feel the horror of what he did while he was a vampire. If he experiences a moment of true happiness, he loses his soul again. That is what happened four years ago, when he killed Je- Miss Calendar. Were you in one of her classes?”

“Yes,” Jonathan said. “She was one of the few teachers who paid any attention to me. Most just ignored me because I wasn’t a troublemaker or an outstanding student - I was always just the middle of the road and pretty much invisible. But Miss Calendar talked to me when she saw me around campus.”

“I’m sorry,” Giles said. “Both for your loss and, well… I know I wasn’t the best adult figure at Sunnydale. I often let my duties as a Watcher override my job as librarian.”

Jonathan shrugged. “Saving the world is more important than helping a kid find books for his report on Stalin.”

Where would Jonathan be today if Giles had paid more attention to him? If Jenny had been around to continue to foster his self-esteem? Would he have still tried to kill himself in the belltower on a sunny spring day? It was pointless to dwell on such questions, but Giles could not help but wonder a little. Would he be sitting where he was right now? And if not, would the Scoobies be the same without him? “Be that as it may,” Giles said, “you have to understand… the man you see every week at Buffy’s house is not the same person who killed Jenny. Angelus is evil, pure and simple. Angel has redeemed himself time and time again, and every day that goes by he has to live with the memories of what Angelus did.”

“Having a soul doesn’t automatically make you a good person,” Jonathan murmured, almost too quietly for Giles to hear.

“No, you’re absolutely right about that.” The kettle began boiling, and Giles paused to pour the water into the teapot. When he returned, bring the pot with him, he continued. “And from what I understand, the man Angel was before he was turned was not exactly an upstanding pillar of his community. But it is what a person does with the hand that they are dealt that matters in the end.”

“You don’t think we’re in danger from him?” Jonathan asked. “You don’t think Cordelia and - and the others, Fred and Wesley and Gunn… that they’re taking a huge risk by working with him?”

Giles carefully began preparing two teacups, using the time to gather his thoughts. “Yes, every day that Cordelia and the others go into work they are taking a huge risk. Every day that Angel continues to live with this curse, he runs the risk of losing his grip on his soul. There was, apparently, an incident several months ago where a very silly woman slipped Angel a drug that sent him into a state of euphoria and while the drug was in his system he temporarily reverted back to Angelus. Cordelia and Wesley were able to outwit and outflank him - which believe me is no small feat. I could tell them every detail of what Angelus did in the past, the atrocities he committed...but have you ever known Cordelia to listen to reason when her mind is made up? I invite you to try.”

Jonathan smiled, albeit weakly. “No, thanks.”

“She knows the risks. In fact - and I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but - I feel safer knowing that Cordelia is with Angel, watching over him. She will try to stop anything bad from happening, and if she can’t, well… she will be able to stop her personal feelings from getting in the way of what needs to be done.”

“But won’t she be the first person Angelus would target if he comes back?” Jonathan asked.

Giles poured the well-steeped tea into the cups. “You are probably right about that. It worries me, of course. I’d be insane or heartless not to worry for her wellbeing - for all of their wellbeing. But we’ll have to cross that bridge if it ever comes up and in the meantime we’ll just hope that it never does.”

Jonathan relaxed a little, clutching his mug. He was still mostly hunched over, but he seemed to be pulling out of himself a little. “I guess it makes sense then.”

Giles took a sip of his own tea. “What does?”

“How you guys were able to forgive what Andrew and I did so easily. Robbing a bank and messing with Buffy’s head a little doesn’t really compare to murder.”

Giles frowned. “I would rather not give you the impression that we are okay with the things you did as the self-proclaimed Trio. ‘Messing with Buffy’s head’ after everything she went through recently, I’m sure you agree, is no trivial matter. You are right that it does not compare to murder, but it is not something I appreciate you being so blasé about.”

“Oh, no - I d-didn’t mean to come across as blasé. I just mean that… I guess I wanted to say thanks for not throwing us out when we admitted to all that stuff. We would have deserved it.”

“You’re welcome,” Giles said. “We’ve all done things we should not be proud of. I, too, am not entirely blameless. Forgiveness is...well, it’s a tricky thing. To give it or receive it… to deserve it… how do we decide who is deserving and who is not?”

Jonathan did not say anything, lost in his thoughts. Giles settled back in his chair; some very painful memories had been dredged up with this diary and the rehashing of Angelus’ exploits, but Giles was surprised to find they didn’t have quite the same sharpness as they once held. Merely looking Angel in the eye had been impossible once upon a time, but now they were downright amicable towards each other. Jonathan didn’t even know all the details - about how Jenny had been left in Giles’ bed, how Angel had later tortured him for information. Was Giles too lenient in his forgiveness? He did not think so. He would always be wary, now that he knew what Angelus was truly capable of. Until the curse was lifted - or Angel died - Giles would never completely trust him.

Would Jonathan learning the truth about Jenny’s death cause a rift in the newly expanded group? Giles felt almost certain it would not. Jonathan wasn’t the sort to cause drama if he could help it, and Angel would probably be understanding of Jonathan’s feelings in any case. Giles made a mental note to give him advanced warning before the next movie night.

A key scraped in the shop’s front door lock. “Hey why’re we closed? Something happen?” Buffy asked, leading Dawn and Andrew into the shop and locking the door behind her.

“We had some private matters - what happened to you?” Giles broke off his train of thought when he caught sight of Andrew’s bloody face. A spectacular bruise had set up camp around one of his eyes.

Jonathan jumped to his feet, going behind the front counter for the first aid kit. If Giles hadn’t been otherwise distracted he would have raised an eyebrow at the casual liberties Jonathan was already starting to take. Buffy pushed Andrew gently into a chair as she explained, “Warren showed up at the mall and tried to set up a little reunion. When Andrew refused, it turned into a reunion between his face and Warren’s fist.”

“Are you okay?” Jonathan asked Andrew, putting hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton swath for him to clean his cuts with.

Andrew pulled his best pouty face. “It hurts a lot,” he said, sniffling. He put the cotton against one of the cuts and winced. “Owwww.”

“I mean are you okay about Warren. You know…” Jonathan trailed off.

“You should have seen how awesome he was,” Dawn said. “He totally put Warren in his place. You rocked, Andrew.”

Andrew straightened up slightly, looking proud of himself. “Yeah, I did,” he said, then winced again as he cleaned another cut. “Owie.”

Buffy shot Giles a look. He eased away from the table and followed her out of the others’ earshot. “Warren probably won’t come sniffing around Andrew again for a while.”

“That’s good,” Giles said encouragingly. He caught the look on Buffy’s face. “But there’s a ‘but,’ isn’t there?”

“Giles, he’s more than just a geeky nuisance with a massive ego. Dawn said he went from cool and collected to smashing in Andrew’s face in less than a second. That’s not a temper, that’s psychotic. Whenever he does come back - and I’m pretty sure he will - we’ll have to be prepared,” Buffy said.

Giles took off his glasses and rubbed his face with one hand. “We will be.” Easier to say than do. This wasn’t a demon or spell to counteract; Warren Mears was a human being. They weren’t in the business of making humans pay for their sins. The fact that Ethan Rayne was still alive and causing mischief proved that. Human missteps were for the police to apprehend and punish, but Warren had gotten lucky this time around. If he went to jail, so did Andrew and Jonathan, and none of the Scoobies were willing to let that happen.

“How did things go here?” Buffy asked. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Ah, no, but now that Andrew is here he should be able to put us on the right track if not provide the answer altogether. I should probably give you advanced warning, though: Jonathan found my Watcher diary from the time Angelus was in town,” Giles told her.

“Uh oh,” Buffy said.

“Uh oh indeed. I thought I had them all locked up, but somehow that one got mixed in with the books up in the loft. I suppose I should be glad Jonathan was the one to find it instead of someone else.”

“What did it say?”

“It mentioned the circumstances of Jenny’s death,” Giles said. “Apparently she was very kind to Jonathan and he was greatly upset by her loss.”

“Big uh oh,” Buffy said. “What did you say?”

Giles told her in as brief terms as possible what had transpired between him and Jonathan. Buffy listened with a frown and when he was finished, she rubbed her temples. Giles’ heart ached for her, wishing he could shoulder some of her burdens for her. But part of helping her grow into maturity would be stepping back in moments like this so that she could learn there were some things she could not fix with a pep talk or an ass-kicking. Jonathan’s feelings right now were justified and with time he might be able to move past them. There was also the very real possibility that he might not, and at that time some big decisions would have to be made.

“Okay,” Buffy said after a moment, “so Jonathan isn’t exactly feeling the warm and fuzzies for Angel right now. No big.”

“I’ll give him a heads up when I call him if we get the information we need about the Shnek demons.” He couldn’t do much for her, but this one little thing he could do.

“Thanks, Giles.” She flashed him a tired smile. “I appreciate it. The last thing I want to deal with is another round of Angel beating himself up.”

“Cordelia won’t let him mope for long,” Giles said.

Buffy’s smile turned sad as well as tired; she looked twenty years older than she actually was. Giles glanced away so she wouldn’t see the worry in his eyes. “No, I suppose she won’t,” Buffy said.

“It’s a trap!” Jonathan exclaimed suddenly, loud enough to get Buffy and Giles’ attention.

“Nooo, you have to say it in a deeper voice like ‘it’s a trap,’” Andrew said, growling it out.

“It’s a trap,” Jonathan said, imitating Andrew.

Giles and Buffy hurried to rejoin them. “It’s a trap?” Giles repeated. “Angel is walking into a trap?”

Jonathan and Andrew both looked like he had sprouted broccoli out of his ears. “Huh?” Andrew said, making a face. “No way. The Terrocks are totally legit. We were just practicing our Admiral Ackbar impersonations.”

Giles looked at Buffy, who looked just as bewildered as he felt. Dawn rolled her eyes - whether at Giles and Buffy or at Jonathan and Andrew was difficult to tell. “It’s a Star Wars thing.”

Giles cleared his throat. “Ah. Well, be that as it may… Andrew, you’re absolutely sure?”

“Yeah…” Andrew picked up a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit and began plucking splinters from the table in front of him. “I’m, like… 94% sure.”

Giles weighed the estimate in his mind as Dawn patiently extracted the tweezers from Andrew’s hand before he could do any more damage to the table. It wasn’t entirely reassuring but it was better than nothing. “Good. Alright. I’ll let Angel know.”

“Tell him -” Jonathan began, then faltered when everyone looked at him. “Er, just tell him that we all wish him luck.” The tips of Jonathan’s ears turned red and he busied himself putting the first aid supplies back where they belonged.

Giles nodded. “I will.”

Jonathan had a big heart, that much was clear. He probably wasn’t ready to forgive Angel’s past transgressions - God knew it had taken Giles a very long time even when Angel came back from Hell - but he was willing to make this small gesture. That would mean worlds to Angel.

Talking with Jonathan today about everything had made Giles realise something. He hadn’t ever consciously thought about it, what with Angel being so far away and pretty much out of their lives, but… somewhere along the way, Giles had truly forgiven him. In more than just words - in his heart he actually felt it. Trust maybe wasn’t something he was willing to extend yet, and maybe never would be, but forgiveness in this instance might actually be worth more than trust.


	8. Xander's Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pairings: Xander/Anya, Willow/Tara  
> This chapter's rating: Teen  
> Warnings: None

“What are you guys doing here?”

“Get in, we’re going on a quest,” Xander said.

Dawn didn’t need to be told twice, although she still had a lot of questions. She climbed into the backseat of Xander’s junker, shoving her backpack into the small space next to her feet. Jonathan - poor, tiny Jonathan, was stuck in the middle seat, looking uncomfortable and trying to stay out of the way of the rearview mirror; Andrew, on the driver’s side of the back was leaning across Jonathan to try to see out the front window.

“Are we going to L.A.?” Dawn asked, slamming her door shut and buckling up.

Xander pulled the car out of the school parking lot. “Well technically right now we’re going to The Magic Box to meet up with the others. Then we’re going to L.A.”

“This is ridiculous,” Anya announced from the passenger seat. “Normally I’m all for meddling in other people’s lives, but driving two hours to L.A. just because those guys missed a couple of movie nights in a row is stupid.”

“Your concerns have already been noted, honey,” Xander assured her. “And it’s been three weeks in a row. It’s unusual for all five of them to miss out on one movie night, let alone three consecutive ones. Andrew, I swear to God this is the last time I’m going to tell you to get your head out of the way.”

Andrew threw himself against the back seat, crossing his arms. “We could have walked to The Magic Box instead of you picking us up, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I’d still be stuck with you on the ride to L.A., wouldn’t I? This is what I get for having a car: I get to schlep around in the Nerdmobile while Giles gets the cool kids.”

“I want to ride in the other car with Spike,” Andrew announced.

“Spike’s not going,” Xander reminded him. “He made that pretty clear when he said ‘who gives a flying shit whether or not that monkeybrain watches some movies? I’d rather eat a toaster than drive two hours just to see if ickle Angel isn’t feeling well.’”

“He is too coming,” Andrew persisted, popping up between the front seats again. “I’ll bet you anything.”

Xander kind of liked the sound of that. “Will you bet me your mint condition X-Men #94?”

In the mirror, Xander could see the hesitation on Andrew’s face. The kid might hero-worship Spike but he wasn’t completely naive. “What do I get if I’m right?”

Xander thought it over carefully. “I have a copy of Amazing Spider-Man #129 that’s more or less in great shape.”

Andrew pushed further forward, ignoring the pained protests from Jonathan and Dawn. “That’s the first appearance of The Jackal and The Punisher.”

“Yeah, it is,” Xander said. It was a risky thing to bet, but Spike couldn’t care less what happened to his old grandsire. If he saw Angel being eaten alive by a ravenous vampire-eating beast, Spike wouldn’t lift a finger to help, even if Buffy begged him to. In fact, he’d probably make popcorn and watch. Maybe even give the beast some pointers if he missed a scrap or two of vampflesh.

The idea was starting to make Xander a little nauseous; he wished he hadn’t thought of it.

“Alright, deal,” Andrew said.

Xander took one hand off the wheel to reach into the backseat for Andrew to shake. It was a little awkward, but they managed it. Beside him, Anya made a loud derisive noise; in the back, Jonathan shook his head. “You’re an idiot. You’re gonna lose that X-Men comic and I know how much it means to you.”

Andrew settled back into his seat, looking haughty. “You’ll see.”

Xander pulled up in front of The Magic Box and they all piled out. The shop’s sign was turned to “Closed” but when Xander tested the door, it was unlocked. The others were already gathered, including…

“Goddamnit,” Xander muttered. “Spike, please tell me you’re just here to see us off.”

“Nope,” Spike said, sticking a cigarette into his mouth. Giles, who was passing by with some of his better weapons to put in the trunk of his car, stopped to glare at him until he took it out again with a sigh. “If Old Numbnuts managed to get himself into something seriously nasty I want to be there to watch the fallout.” He rounded on Giles, who was almost out the door. “Are you telling me I’m not going to be able to smoke until we get to L.A.?”

Dawn darted over to open the door for Giles. “Ah, thank you,” he said, then paused to address Spike. “You’re not riding in my car, so whether or not you smoke isn’t really up to me.” He exited the shop into the dwindling sunshine, leaving Spike to glower uselessly at his back.

“Whadaya mean I’m not riding with you lot? I thought the other car was full up.”

“Change of plans,” Buffy said smugly. “We didn’t think you’d be coming, but since you are, Dawn’s with us and you’re in Xander’s car.”

“I could have told you he’d be coming,” Andrew said loudly, looking way too pleased with himself. Everyone ignored him.

“You expect me to ride in that piece of shit?” Spike put the cigarette back into his mouth, like some sort of security device he couldn’t go more than two minutes without.

“First of all - uhhh does Xander get a say in whether or not the evil vampire gets to ride around in his car?” Xander asked. “Second of all - no smoking allowed in the piece of shit.”

Giles came back inside. “I can’t fit anything else in the trunk.”

“I think we’ll manage without the Sumerian battle-axe,” Buffy reassured him.

“I can probably take a few things in my trunk,” Xander said. “But can we get back to the matter at hand? My car has a strict no-vampires policy.”

“If I have to spend two hours with Spike, I’m probably going to stake him,” Buffy said.

“Hey,” Spike protested around the unlit cigarette. “I’m standing right here, you know.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Buffy said, turning to face him directly. “If I have to spend two full hours with you, I will definitely end up staking you.”

“Guys?” Tara said, bringing everyone’s attention back to the matter at hand. “We’re wasting time. Our friends could be in danger.”

“Weapons - check, snacks - check, caffeine - check, road trip mixtape - check. Friday afternoon with the whole weekend ahead of us to take down any wayward Big Bads? Double check. Last pee break before L.A., everyone,” Willow announced.

“Good, then there’s time for one last cigarette break too,” Spike said, heading for the basement. “Do not leave without me.”

“ _Please_ let’s just leave without him,” Xander said.

In theory, no one had any qualms about ditching Spike without telling him, but no one moved to actually do so. The girls went into the back room one by one to do their girly thing; Giles rifled through some papers on his desk while Anya made sure everything was secure in case they didn’t make it back in time to open up the store tomorrow. Dawnie heaved her backpack into the loft; they probably wouldn’t have much use for a calculus textbook and a bunch of pencils so they might as well free up whatever space they could in Giles’ tiny sports car (though to be fair a pencil could be just as good as a stake when it comes to killing vampires, and Xander was pretty sure calculus could kill just about anyone, including demons, so maybe it would be more useful to take the backpack with them instead of the Sumerian battleaxe).

“Hey, if we trade Giles for Anya, we can have an all-girl car and an all-boy car,” Dawn pointed out.

“Sounds good to me,” Buffy said. “I’ll drive.” She held out her hand towards Giles, grinning impishly.

“Here ya go, Buff,” Xander said, tossing her his keys. She gave him a sour look and threw them back at him. “What? You didn’t specify which car was gonna be the girl car. I think we manly men should get to ride in the nice car that goes ‘zoom-zoom.’”

“But we girly girls make the car look hot,” Dawn countered.

“The car makes itself look hot,” Xander informed her.

“Are we ready to go?” Giles asked, snapping the book he held in his hands shut. Spike emerged from the basement, reeking of stale cigarette smoke, at the same time that Tara came back from the bathroom. There was a general shuffling and muttering of readiness as they filed out of the store into the dwindling sunshine, Spike with his ever-present blanket clenched around him for protection. In spite of Dawn’s earlier observation, they divided up as originally planned: Xander, Anya, Andrew, Jonathan, and Spike in Xander’s car, and Giles, Buffy, Tara, Willow, and Dawnie in Giles’ car.

The drive to L.A. was uneventful until they reached the city limits. Xander’s car might not have the same guts as the sporty little convertible, but he was able to keep up thanks to Giles’ general fuddyduddiness. Once they hit the outskirts of L.A., though, all bets were off. Most people getting off work were headed out of the city, but plenty of other people were streaming in for Friday night fun. Giles kept pulling ahead, but thanks to deft maneuvering and good driving skills, Xander never stayed behind for long.

At last they reached the appropriate exit just as the sun gave its last hurrah. The Hyperion wasn’t that far from the highway, situated in a less-than-stellar neighbourhood. Perfect for a business whose mission statement was helping the hopeless; there were definitely plenty of people who fit that description around here.

Xander was glad to pull up in front of the hotel at last. Jonathan and Andrew had spent the last half hour of the trip bickering about who was taking up more space in the backseat, while Spike threatened to kill both of them if they didn’t shut up - and Anya hadn’t exactly been helpful with her periodic reiteration that this whole thing was pointless and everyone was probably already dead. As they all tumbled out of various doors and stretched their cramped muscles, Xander glanced around. Nothing seemed especially out of place, but if being a Scooby had taught Xander anything, it was that looks were almost always deceiving.

Giles popped open his trunk and began handing out daggers and crossbows to the appropriate people. “Trick or treat,” Xander muttered as he was handed a short sword with some weird runes etched into the blade.

“A little late for that,” Giles rejoined. “Halloween was a couple of weeks ago.”

“It is never too late to beg for candy from random strangers,” Xander said.

“Can I have a weapon?” Andrew asked.

“No,” several people replied at the same time.

Andrew stuck out his lower lip. “But what if the bad guy attacks me?”

“Then we’ll give you a glorious funeral and probably be sad for one, maybe even two whole days,” Xander said.

Giles dug a few stakes out of his weapons bag. He handed one to Jonathan, Andrew, and Dawnie each. Stakes weren’t exactly useful against anything that wasn’t a vampire, but they were better than no weapon at all. “Don’t get attacked,” Giles advised them.

“Good pep talk, Giles. I feel like that really raised everyone’s spirits,” Xander said.

“Do I get a weapon?” Spike asked.

Giles’ only response was to close the trunk. Spike sneered at him.

“We ready?” Buffy asked.

“Let’s do this,” Xander said. “Lead the way, o fearless one.”

They marched into the hotel lobby, expecting to find blood and mayhem - instead they were greeted with….

“It’s empty,” Willow said, sounding confused. “No one is here.”

“What’s that?” Xander pointed to the red paint on the floor - at least he hoped it was red paint. It seemed to be some sort of spellwork.

There was a weird sort of round couch in the middle of the lobby; Giles climbed on top of it to get a better look at the design. “It looks like it was used to summon something, though I can’t be sure what.”

A quiet yelp from behind them had everyone whirling around, weapons raised. Andrew - presumably having been the one to make the noise - was face-to-face with a… well, a rather dapper-looking green skinned demon with red horns and eyes. The demon looked fairly perturbed.

“Yaaah yourself,” it said. “And what are you going to do with that stake, exactly? Splinter me to death?”

“I know what you are,” Andrew told him, sounding more defiant than Xander would have believed possible of him. “You’re a Deathwok demon.”

“Hmm,” the demon said, unimpressed. “And you’re a human who apparently hasn’t been told that frosted tips are so last season.”

Andrew touched his hair. “But they look good on me,” he protested.

The demon raised an eyebrow. “Sure, and I look phenomenal in bell bottoms, but do I wear them? Of course not because who does anymore.”

Xander shot a disbelieving look at Willow, who gave an expression of bewilderment in return. It was surely the finest exchange of whatthefuckery in all of the Western Hemisphere. “Is this guy for real?” Xander whispered, quiet enough so that only Willow and Buffy in his immediate vicinity would hear.

“Are _you_ for real?” the demon demanded, turning his attention to Xander. Xander paled; apparently this demon had supernatural hearing - go figure. “What sort of people come charging into a hotel with weapons drawn?”

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Giles began, climbing down from the round couch, “but what are you doing here? And where are the hotel’s previous residents?”

“I live here, sugardaddy. Angel owes me that much for having destroyed my club three times.”

The Scoobies all relaxed at the mention of Angel’s name, but only a little. “Is he here?” Buffy asked.

The demon spread his hands in an elegant gesture of ‘no clue.’ “I’m not his keeper. If he’s not hounding Wesley in his office, then he’s probably upstairs. Speaking of Wesley, why didn’t he hear all the racket you people made coming in here?” He stepped around the group and opened a door to what was presumably Wesley’s office. He eased the door shut after a moment, grimacing. “Fast asleep. It’s about time, too. He’s been up with that prophecy for three days straight.”

“Prophecy?” Giles asked, ears perking up like a retriever sighting a downed duck.

“Yeah, you know - bringer of doom, end of the world. All that tiresome same ol’ song and dance.”

The front door opened and Cordelia walked in, two grocery bags in her arms. She was so busy peering into one of the bags to make sure everything was in there that she didn’t see the Scoobies at first. “You know, I’m kinda digging this whole ‘buying supplies for the baby’ thing. Three different women asked me how I managed to lose the baby weight so fast and everyone complimented me on how great I look even though I look like a total - uh oh.” She looked up at last, eyes widening as she caught sight of the others with their multitude of weapons. Her eyes sought out the demon, who had crossed his arms and was leaning against the front desk. “Where’s Angel?”

“Hey did I hear Cordy come in?” There was a clatter on one of the staircases, and Angel appeared. “Did you get the diapers? Things aren’t desperate yet but -” He broke off and looked in the direction Cordelia’s attention was focused. “Oh.”

“We have company, apparently,” Cordelia said drily.

“How in the name of Pylea did you hear Cordelia come in but not the horde of angry villagers ready to skewer your babysitter?” the demon asked Angel.

“I - well, I wasn’t really…” Angel faltered, looking the most uncomfortable anyone had ever seen him.

The last of the tension drained from the group and, as a whole, they lowered their weapons. Xander raised his non-sword-wielding hand. “Uhh maybe I have a weird waxy buildup but I’m pretty sure I keep hearing words like ‘baby’ and ‘diapers’ being tossed around oh so casually.”

“I’m gonna go take this stuff up to your room,” Cordelia said, swiftly departing before she got roped into the awkwardness.

“I’ll help,” the demon said, following her.

“Wait, guys, I…” Angel began, but they had already disappeared. Angel faced the group, rubbing his hands together and plastering a falsely cheery smile onto his face. “So, we have a baby now.”

There was a general hush as the group considered which of the dozens of questions clamouring in everyone’s minds was the most important to ask first. The silence was broken as Spike suddenly cracked up.

Angel glared at him. “Care to let us in on the joke, Spike?”

“Do you not see how absolutely ridiculous this is?” Spike spluttered. “We came riding galavantly to your rescue like the heroes we are, only to find out the reason you’ve been avoiding us for three weeks is you’re taking care of a baby? An honest-to-god, living, breathing, infant creature. We came here to slay a vicious monster and instead we find baby bottles and nappies.” He glanced around at the others. “Does no one else find this the least bit ironic?”

“Why?” Buffy asked Angel, ignoring Spike.

Angel came down the short stairway so that he was on the ground level with the others. “The mother died to bring him into the world.” Xander frowned at the peculiar phrasing but didn’t say anything, waiting to hear the rest of the story. “Until we know more about what he means, we’re taking care of him like he’s just a regular baby.”

“What do you mean you don’t know what he means?” Xander asked.

“It’s complicated,” a posh British voice answered. Apparently Wesley had woken up from his nap and was listening in. He leaned against the doorjamb of his office, face and clothes uncharacteristically rumpled. “There’s a prophecy involved and a bit of a mystery how Connor came into existence in the first place.”

“What do you -” Giles started to ask, but a sound on the staircase interrupted his question. Cordelia reappeared, a bundle wrapped up in her arms. The group silently watched her descend the stairs, even Spike quieting down. Angel’s face went from nervous to delighted so fast Xander’s head spun a little.

“He just woke up so I changed him,” Cordelia said quietly, drawing even with Angel, who reached out a finger to the bundle. “He still needs his bottle, though. Who wants to hold him while I go get it?” The question was directed at the group, but her eyes were focused on Buffy.

“Me?” Buffy asked, startled. “Sure, I...okay.” She placed her weapon on the floor at her feet as Cordelia walked over and gently transferred the bundle into her arms. Everyone crowded around, craning their necks to look at the little wrinkled face staring back at them.

After a moment or two of holding the baby, Buffy’s face crumpled into a frown. “No,” she muttered, looking uncomfortable. “Someone - someone take him. Now, right now.”

Giles eased the baby out of her grip. Xander put a hand on Buffy’s arm, startled to find she was shaking. “Buffy, what’s wrong?” Willow asked.

“That baby,” Buffy said, sounding distracted. “He’s...he’s not exactly _wrong_ but I can’t… who was the mother?”

Angel met her gaze steadily. “Darla.”

“Darla died,” Buffy said. “You killed her.”

“You died,” Angel said simply. “Yet here you are.”

“So… what?” Buffy’s voice grew slightly louder. Giles turned away, shielding the baby from the sound. “You resurrected her and -”

“I didn’t,” Angel interrupted. “Those lawyers I told you about - Wolfram and Hart. They did it.”

“When they brought her back, she was human?” Giles asked.

“Yes, but then Drusilla turned her back into a vampire,” Angel said, with a cursory glance at Spike, whose mouth contorted at the mention of his former love.

“But she became pregnant while she was still human?”

“No, after.”

“Okay, maybe I’m not so clear on the whole undead thing,” Xander said, “but once you’re dead I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be able to have a child. Doesn’t the whole -” he gestured at his own midsection “-stop working? I mean for ladyvamps, anyway?”

“Like Wesley said, it’s a bit of a mystery,” Angel said.

“And you’re the father?” Buffy demanded, but it was less of a question and more of a statement. “I could tell just by holding him. He’s so… so… _you_.”

Angel frowned at her. “Is that a compliment?”

“A baby born of two vampires?” Giles said wonderingly. He didn’t sound nearly as disturbed as Buffy did about the whole situation. “That’s absolutely fascinating.”

“Uhhh, so when Cordy said she was going to prepare a bottle for him…?” Xander said.

“Milk,” Angel interjected quickly. “He drinks milk. He’s human.”

“Technically formula,” Cordelia said, coming back with a bottle in hand.

“Can I give it to him?” Dawn asked eagerly.

“Sure,” Angel said. “Uh, why don’t you sit down to do it?”

Dawn sat on one of the couches and Giles gently passed Connor - who was starting to fuss a little - to her. Relieved of his burden, Giles retreated with Wesley into Wesley’s office, presumably to confer about the finer details of what all this meant. That was fine by Xander - let them deal with the technical stuff while everyone else oohed and cooed over the baby.

Buffy still looked a little wigged, though. She watched the baby in her sister’s arms with a pronounced wariness about her. Xander could kind of understand her reservation, but for the time being Connor was just a baby and couldn’t possibly pose any sort of threat. Whether or not that changed in the future remained to be seen, but for the time being, Xander couldn’t help but feel a little gooey watching the little guy go to town on his bottle.

He glanced around for Anya, expecting her to be nearby also getting oogly-eyed over the baby, but to his surprise she had taken up residence on a couch on the other side of the room with Jonathan. Other than Spike, who had gone outside presumably to smoke, and the two men in the office, they were the only ones not currently crowded around Dawn. Jonathan had laid down his stake in exchange for some dusty old book that he had found somewhere (Angel Investigations was almost as bad as The Magic Box in terms of how many books were just laying around everywhere - seriously what was it with ex-Watchers and their book hoarding?) while Anya examined her fingernails, looking bored. As Xander watched, Jonathan read something out loud from the book and showed Anya something on its pages. She responded at length. Neither of them noticed Xander’s gaze.

Before Xander could go over to them and say something - what exactly that something might be, he had no idea - the hotel’s front door opened, and Gunn and Fred came in with a rather nervous-looking young man. They took in the sight of everyone in the lobby. “Whoa, what’s everyone doing here?” Gunn asked. It was apparently a rhetorical question because without waiting for an answer, he nodded at Angel. “We’ve got a case, man.”

Before Angel could direct her, Cordelia was already grabbing a blank folder to start a new file. Angel poked his head into the office to let Wesley and Giles know they needed the room; a moment later Giles emerged, several documents and books clutched in his arms. The young man entered the office at Cordelia’s beckoning, followed by Gunn and Angel. Fred came over to watch as Connor drained the last of the formula out of the bottle.

“Oh, you’ll need a burping rag,” she said, going behind the front counter and opening drawers all over the place until she found what she was looking for. She laid the small square cloth (white with little green frogs) on Dawn’s shoulder. “Hold him upright against your shoulder - yeah, like that. Good job.” She gently coached Dawn through burping an infant. The delight in Dawn’s eyes when Connor did what he was supposed to was practically tangible.

Even Buffy couldn’t help but smile a little. “Okay, so he is kind of cute,” she said. “Even if he turns out to be evil.”

“Who cares?” Willow crooned. “Lookit those itty bitty evil toesies.” She reached out to tickle one of Connor’s feet, causing him to kick.

“Don’t listen to them, Connor,” Andrew said. “You can choose to not be evil if you want. But if you want to experiment with evilness, that’s okay too.”

“Can somebody take him?” Dawn asked.

Tara gently lifted the baby from her arms, cradling him close. Willow and she exchanged a private look over him, a look full of hope and wistfulness. Xander glanced over his shoulder - Anya was still deep in conversation with Jonathan and perfectly happy to ignore all the gooey mush happening on the other side of the room.

Angel and the others came out of the office. “This’ll only take a couple of hours. Do you mind staying with Connor, Fred?”

“Not at all,” she replied. “They’re doing most of the work anyway.”

Cordelia opened the weapons cabinet and handed several objects to Angel and Gunn, and kept a couple for herself as well. “Wesley’s staying behind to look into that thing you mentioned,” she said to Giles, who had spread books and papers all over the floor and was reading intently enough that Xander wasn’t sure he had even heard Cordelia. “I have no idea what he was talking about, but I got the impression you’d understand.”

“Yes, of course,” Giles said vaguely, not looking up from the paper in his hands.

Cordelia glanced at Angel, then knelt beside Giles. “Wesley has been acting squirrely for a while now. I think he knows more about this prophecy than he’s telling us. And I think it’s something very not good. If Angel loses Connor… I don’t think it would kill him, but I will do whatever it takes to make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

Giles laid a comforting hand on Cordelia’s shoulder. “I understand. I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Are you coming, Cordy?” Angel called.

“Yup, be right there.” She straightened up, looking oddly diminutive - it took Xander a moment to realise she was wearing flats instead of heels. She was also wearing a form-fitting track jacket and loose pants. Stylish, sure, but not nearly the fancy, smoking hot getup they were used to seeing her in. In spite of her energy, she looked tired. The healing and protection charm Jonathan had made for her hung from her neck on a simple chain, a constant reminder of her situation as a conduit for The Powers That Be.

“Do you want to hold him, Xander?” Willow asked, calling his attention back to the baby at hand. The battle crew left, but not before both Angel and Cordelia paused to kiss Connor goodbye. Xander waited until they were gone before accepting Willow’s offer.

To hold such a tiny, fragile life in his large hands was daunting. He’d never been so aware of every callous and scar marring his skin. Connor’s eyes fluttered shut as he yawned widely. Any funny remarks Xander might have made to lighten the moment died in his throat.

Fred yawned almost as widely as Connor had a moment ago. “Has he been keeping everyone awake?” Willow asked sympathetically.

Fred nodded. “You’d think between six of us, we’d be well rested, but we’ve been taking on more cases than ever and we’re all in research overdrive mode. I can’t believe he’s nearly a month old already. It only seems like a week ago.”

“We’ll help any way we can,” Tara assured her. “Sunnydale and L.A. aren’t exactly close, but we can help with research or if you guys need a night off or anything.”

Spike held out his hands to Xander. “Here, let Uncle Spike have a go.”

Xander shifted, shielding Connor with his body. “You smell like you just bathed in a giant ashtray. No.”

Spike sniffed his coat, then shed it. “C’mon, gimme. While Captain Sourpuss isn’t around to make faces at me.”

Xander looked at Fred; as the only person from Angel Investigations currently in the vicinity, she was the person in charge of Connor’s wellbeing. Fred shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

“I could name at least fifteen reasons off the top of my head,” Xander grumbled, but he handed over the baby anyway. Spike took him with surprising gentleness, making funny faces as Connor protested the disruption.

“He really likes it when Angel makes his vampire face,” Fred informed him.

Spike concentrated for a moment, getting his face into the proper formation. Connor watched, fascinated and contented for the moment. Or maybe he was just gassy. “See?” Spike said proudly. “Kid already loves his Uncle Spike.”

“Technically since he’s Angel’s son and Angel was your grandsire, wouldn’t that make Connor your uncle?” Andrew asked.

Spike glared at him - an expression that should have had most people pissing themselves, but Andrew always seemed immune to any threats Spike levelled at him. “It’ll be worth the pain to bite you.”

“Don’t make death threats in front of the baby,” Giles instructed idly, not even looking up from his book. Jonathan had come over at some point to help sort through the papers.

“This kid is gonna have the biggest, weirdest, stabbiest family in the world,” Xander declared. He looked over at Anya, who had also left the couch but still wasn’t joining in with the others’ obvious fascination with the baby. She looked bored and uncomfortable. “An, you wanna give it a shot next?”

“Not really,” Anya said.

“Are you sure?” Xander pressed. “If you’re worried about dropping him, you can sit down first.”

“I’m not worried, I just don’t want to hold him. I don’t see why everyone is making such a huge deal out of holding a baby.”

“Yeah, but -”

“Jonathan doesn’t want to hold him either,” Anya said. “Why aren’t you making a big deal out of that?”

“I’m not - I was just….” Xander trailed off, frustrated. She wouldn’t understand, and it wasn’t worth the argument. “Fine, don’t hold the baby. Just thought I’d offer.”

“Alright, I won’t,” Anya huffed.

“Good,” Xander plastered a wide smile onto his face; out of the corner of his eye he could see the others exchanging poignant looks.

Jonathan made a face. “I don’t really like babies. They just lay there and don’t do much. I’ll be happy to help out when he’s old enough to watch Babylon 5 with us, though.”

“Oh, but they do so much even though they don’t look like it,” Fred said earnestly. “Every moment they’re growin’ and learning and stuff.”

“How old do babies start talking?” Spike asked.

“Why do you want to know?” Buffy countered instantly.

“I’m just curious,” Spike told her, all wide-eyed innocence that fooled exactly no one, including Connor.

The moment of tension between Anya and Xander passed without comment, but Xander knew the others had seen it. Knew they would talk about it amongst themselves. Fine, that was just peachy. Let them say what they wanted. Xander would let it go and forget about it. It wasn’t worth bringing up. I’ll never tell… the words from last week’s musical ridiculousness echoed in his head, niggling their way into the crevices of his brain. He’d just wanted to see what would happen, and he had gotten way more than he bargained for.

But it was over now and they could go back to the way things were before.

The demon who lived in the hotel - they learned his name was Lorne - reappeared eventually, after Connor had fallen back asleep and was now resting comfortably in Dawn’s arms again. Everyone who wanted to had taken their turn, and people were starting to lose interest in watching him just breathe and occasionally wiggle in his sleep. Andrew disappeared after handing over the baby and came back, wide-eyed with delight about the giant kitchen he’d found. There was hardly any food in there, he babbled, but he could probably throw something together for the others when they got back, if that was okay. Fred was so happy with the prospect of a home-cooked meal that Xander thought she was going to throw herself at Andrew’s feet and proclaim her undying love.

They ended up staying in L.A. late enough that Angel, once he and the others came back from their case and had sent the client away, offered them rooms in the hotel. Everyone was impressed with the meal Andrew had managed to concoct (some of the flavours were a little off because he’d had to make do, but they were all too tired to really care and everyone heaped praise on him, making him blush), and Fred joked about stealing Andrew away from the Scoobies so that they could hire him as a full-time cook. At least Xander assumed she was joking.

The Scoobies drove back to Sunnydale that night - or technically the next morning since it was nearly 1 AM before they managed to get underway - in spite of Angel’s offer. Xander kept an eye on Anya as he sped through the nearly-empty highway. She dozed in the front seat; their sharp words had been quickly glossed over and forgotten. She always claimed to want kids someday, but when presented with a real live baby, she couldn’t have been more disinterested.

Xander turned his attention back to the road. There was nothing he could do about it right now, so he might as well just not think about it. There were better, funnier ways to occupy his mind, so he chose to focus on those instead.


	9. Wesley's Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pairings: Fred/Wesley/Gunn  
> This chapter's rating: Mature?  
> Warnings: None

“How’s it going, man?”

Wesley looked up from the papers strewn all over his desk to see Gunn and Fred enter his office. “About as well as it has been for the last few weeks,” he said drily. Which wasn’t entirely a lie; he was no closer to figuring out a way to disprove that this prophecy would come to pass. The only thing was, the others had no idea he’d already translated it. The only person who knew was Giles, and he had agreed to keep it secret for now, until either they discovered there had been a mistranslation, or…

Or the thing it predicted came to pass.

“You need a break,” Fred chided gently. “I don’t mean for a few hours. You need to take a couple of days to give your brain a chance to reset.”

Wesley smiled at her, albeit a slightly sad smile. He hoped she didn’t notice. Throwing himself into the prophecy research overdrive had been the biggest way he chose to distract himself from pining over Fred. He wasn’t an idiot - he saw the looks that passed between her and Gunn. “You’re probably right,” he agreed softly. “But Connor’s life could be at stake. The whole world could be at stake. That’s not exactly the best time to be taking it easy.”

“Then let us help,” Gunn said. “We may not be fluent in Ancient Gibberish, but anything we can do at all, just let us know.”

“You don’t have to carry this burden alone,” Fred told him.

“Mr. Giles is helping me,” Wesley said, then winced. It had been a long time since Wesley had slipped into old habits and called Giles by his formal title; he only did so now because he was uncomfortable.

Gunn and Fred exchanged a look. “That’s not exactly what we meant,” Fred said. “You’re important to us, Wesley, and we want -”

But what they wanted, Wesley did not find out because at that moment Giles burst into the office, which in and of itself was amazing, considering Giles was not exactly the bursting sort. He thrust something at Wesley that was old and musty-smelling. Wesley leaned back slightly to peer at the object and was startled to discover it was the original copy of the prophecy. He could have sworn he’d kept that safely locked away - how had Giles…?

“It’s a fake,” Giles announced.

Wesley whipped his head up to stare at Giles so fast he nearly cracked his neck in half. “A fake,” he repeated, not sure he had heard correctly.

“Yes,” Giles said, his eyes dancing with the delight of seeing all the puzzle pieces finally coming together. “It was a long shot, but everything seemed to be lining up too perfectly. So I took it to someone who I knew would be able to help.”

“Who?” Wesley asked, taking the prophecy carefully from Giles’ hands.

“An acquaintance living down in Mexico who is very in-tune with time energies and shifts. She took one look at it and knew it was fake without a doubt,” Giles said.

“It’s not old? It sure looks old,” Gunn said.

“No, it is old, but at the same time not,” Giles said.

Fred shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Someone from our present went to a lot of trouble to write a very convincing prophecy and then went back in time to give it the authenticity of age,” Giles explained.

“That’s not actually possible, is it?” Gunn demanded.

“Some demons have time-fluctuating capabilities, yes,” Wesley acknowledged. “Some witches could even achieve it, though to achieve it would take so much energy and power that ninety-nine times out of one hundred, the person in question would die.”

“Why would someone do this?” Fred asked.

“They’re targeting Angel,” Wesley hazarded. “Trying to get him to do something stupid.”

“I don’t think it’s just Angel they’re after,” Giles said quietly, staring Wesley straight in the eye. “How can they trick him into doing something stupid when he doesn’t even know what the prophecy says?”

“Yeah, but it’s not like Wesley does either,” Gunn protested.

A heavy silence hung in the air. Without a word, without even looking at what he was doing, Wesley reached into the drawer where he kept the translation. His hand knew exactly where it was from long muscle memory. _The father will kill the son_. He handed the paper over to Gunn, who read it and then showed it to Fred.

“Oh, Wesley,” Fred said miserably when she saw what it said. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I wanted to be certain before I said anything.” No, that was a lie entirely. Protect Connor at all costs, that was the important thing - even if that meant keeping secrets from the others and taking matters into his own hands. “Now that we are certain - we are one hundred percent certain, yes?” Wesley asked. Giles nodded. “Now that we are certain, Angel never needs to know what this said.”

“What about the other stuff?” Fred asked. “The stuff about a child born to two vampires and all - that stuff still came true.”

Now it was Giles and Wesley’s turn to exchange a look. “Much of the other stuff appears to be authentic,” Wesley said. “But how things will change now, we don’t know.”

“Whatever happens, we’ll be prepared,” Gunn said confidently. “As long as someone stops withholding important information.”

Wesley refused to be chastened. “I did what I thought was right. If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t do anything differently.”

“But what if Giles hadn’t been here to help you?” Fred demanded. 

“I suppose we’ll never know,” Wesley deflected. He didn’t like thinking about why he didn’t like thinking about Giles being the one to swoop in to save the day. There was an itchy feeling surrounding those thoughts, something very similar to the feeling Wesley got when he thought about his father. Giles and Roger Wyndam-Pryce were not exactly close colleagues, but they were linked in Wesley’s mind in ways he did not like to examine too carefully. “There’s no point in dwelling on what-ifs or things that never came to pass.” 

“Indeed,” Giles said. He gave his glasses a quick polish, then nodded at the others. “I had best be off. Any time I leave Buffy for longer than six hours at a time, it seems that all Hell breaks loose. I hate to imagine what has happened in the last four days.”

“See ya,” Gunn said at the same time Fred piped out a cheerful goodbye.

“Goodbye,” Wesley said, more solemnly. “And thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Giles said, taking his leave.

Wesley slumped in his chair, closing his eyes. He felt Gunn and Fred’s eyes on him, but he could not bring himself to care. Let them stare if they wanted - he knew he had dodged a bullet this evening, and he needed a moment to take it in.

The prophecy was fake. Angel was not going to kill Connor. Connor was safe - for now at least. Everyone could go about their happy lives together. Angel and Cordelia had each other (although both were still too stubborn to say anything, everyone could feel the tension between them), Fred and Gunn had each other, Lorne had...well, Lorne didn’t seem too unhappy all things considered. The Scoobies had each other.

Wesley had himself.

And that was okay.

He wondered if Gunn and Fred had left; he hadn’t heard them exit the room, but surely they weren’t still there just watching him sit in silence. He didn’t want to look. Tears had welled up behind his eyelids, and he knew that if he opened them now, the tears would fall. He bowed his head slightly, obscuring his eyes with his shaggy hair. It was longer now than he had ever worn it before, and he was quite coming to like it.

A chair creaked - clothing rustled. They were moving now (had they really been just sitting there this whole time?) not away but closer, and Wesley could smell Fred’s shampoo and Gunn’s deodorant and the unspoken words between the two of them and him and the vows not yet taken but on the cusp of statement because surely those had a scent all uniquely their own. A small, delicate - but not fragile, not in the least - hand carded through his hair; a heavy weight settled on his shoulder, squeezing. Wesley tipped his head back, revelling in the sensations and hating himself for doing so. The movement proved too much for gravity, and the tears escaped their thin barrier, sliding down his cheeks in two short, lonely trails.

“Oh, Wesley,” Fred murmured, enveloping him in a tight hug. Just a fraction of a moment’s pause and then Gunn did the same on his other side. They were hugging him and each other and it was awkward because of the office chair Wesley was sitting in but nobody made a move to break away.

Wesley opened his eyes at last, to be greeted by the sight of Fred and Gunn’s entwined arms. He chuckled softly, not even sure what he found so humourous - it was such a heavy moment and yet all he could see were folds of fabric and a glimpse of Fred’s pale skin.

“What’s so funny?” Gunn asked, drawing back slightly.

Wesley looked up at him. “Nothing. Or everything. I haven’t really decided yet.”

Fred also pulled back enough so that she could exchange another look with Gunn (they seemed to do that an awful lot these days) but neither of them let go of Wesley entirely. He was just so happy to be able to see their faces that he didn’t care if they exchanged a hundred meaningful glances.

“You need some sleep, Wesley,” Fred said, pulling away from the men and holding out a hand to help Wesley from his chair.

“You’re probably right,” Wesley agreed. He felt like he could sleep for a week. “I’ll call a cab.” The thought of manoeuvring his motorcycle through L.A. right now was more than he could bear.

“Don’t be ridiculous. In case you haven’t noticed, Angel’s got one or two spare rooms around here,” Gunn said.

Wesley hesitated. Aside from the times he fell asleep in his office, he tried to avoid staying the night at the Hyperion. He wasn’t sure why, exactly - maybe it had to do with keeping his work and private lives separate. That and he liked having his own bed to sleep in. Just this once, though, it would not kill him to take a room upstairs for a few hours. If he found it difficult to sleep, he could leave at any time. “Very well,” he said.

Fred took his hand and led him up the stairs, Gunn following close behind. Wesley wanted to protest that he didn’t need them watching his every move, but it felt like too much energy, so he followed obediently as they took him to the room next to Fred’s.

He sat down on the edge of the double bed, waiting for them to leave, but they stood over him or to be more accurate Fred stood over him with her arms crossed while Gunn stood a few feet away also with his arms crossed as if they were bodyguards protecting Wesley from himself. “How long do you plan on watching me?” he asked idly, the words thick and lazy on his tongue.

“Until we’re sure you’re actually going to sleep,” Fred told him.

Wesley raised an eyebrow at her. “I need to get undressed first.”

“I’m not stopping you,” she countered.

Wesley blushed at the thought of undressing in front of the both of them. Modesty was a thing long forgotten between the Angel Investigations team members when it came to battle wounds. The number of times Wesley had needed assistance when wheelchair-bound and healing from the gunshot wound had been downright embarrassing, but Fred hadn’t been there for that. And this was different, somehow. This had an air of intimacy to it - there was a faint electric charge between Fred and Gunn, Gunn and Wesley, Wesley and Fred and between all three of them at once. Lightning was going to strike tonight, but where it would land he couldn’t even begin to fathom.

“Charles’ll do it for you if he has to,” Fred warned. “But we’re not leaving until you’re tucked into that bed.”

Had they planned all this with just a series of glances? Didn’t matter. Wesley wasn’t in the mood to kowtow tonight. “Very well then,” Wesley said to Fred, then looked at Gunn, a challenge dancing in his eyes. “I’m all yours.”

He should have known better than to expect Gunn to back down from a challenge - and maybe on some level he did, maybe he had been waiting for this opportunity all along. Gunn snorted and stepped up to the bed, pulling Wesley gently to his feet. Wesley, to his credit, went along willingly. His breath caught as Gunn’s hands rucked up Wesley’s sweater, urging him softly into lifting his arms so it could be pulled over his head. The movement was both familiar and not; after all, a bullet hole in the stomach wasn’t exactly conducive to the putting on and taking off of sweaters or shirts. Gunn’s hands ghosted down his back, reaching to untuck Wesley’s shirt. In that moment Wesley couldn’t decide who he was more in love with: Fred or Gunn.

Gunn brought his hands around to the front of Wesley’s shirt, making quick work of the buttons and revealing a white vest underneath. “Damn, Wes, how many layers do you have?” he asked, pushing the button-down off of Wesley’s shoulders and letting it fall onto the bed.

More than you’ll ever know, Wesley thought. Out loud he said, “It’s almost winter, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“In L.A.,” Gunn countered. “We ain’t exactly at the North Pole here.”

“I get cold sitting at my desk,” Wesley protested. He grabbed Gunn’s hands, stopping them before they could start unbuckling his belt. “I can take it from here.”

Gunn met his gaze steadily, trying to communicate something but Wesley could not grasp exactly what through the fog that had enveloped his brain. The electric charge became a crackle and Wesley suddenly realised the others could feel it too because Fred inhaled sharply right then, not quite a gasp, and Gunn’s breath hitched and Wesley felt like he was falling but he couldn’t be because Gunn was still holding his hands keeping him anchored to reality. Whatever Gunn was searching for in Wesley’s eyes maybe he found it or maybe he gave up searching and decided to take a more direct approach because suddenly his lips were on Wesley’s, communicating everything that his eyes could not.

It only lasted a moment, an eternity, before Gunn broke away, shy now, and blushing. Wes could feel his own face heating up to match. It shouldn’t have felt so right but he was beyond caring beyond reason - if this was the comfort he was being offered, by God would he take it. He knew he should feel more conflicted, more disturbed, but he was just. So. Tired. Tired of being dithering, awkward Wesley, tired of letting others’ needs come before his own, tired of shouldering his burdens by himself. Tired of being alone.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wesley could see Fred coming closer, but right now he was mostly focused on Gunn, who wouldn’t meet his eye. Wesley disentangled one of his hands and brought it up to Gunn’s face, caressing and stroking, running a thumb over Gunn’s lips. He was a man entranced. There was something so vulnerable in his expression; Wesley was struck with just how young Gunn was - barely a year and a half older than Cordelia. Wesley leaned forward to brush Gunn’s lips with his own, a not-quite kiss with promises of more to come.

Gunn looked over at Fred, who was watching them with a silly grin. “Oh, don’t mind me,” she told them, waving a hand dismissively.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gunn said, sounding more confident now that he was on more familiar ground. “C’mere girl.” He extended the hand that Wesley had dropped, inviting her to join them. “Uh, that is, if you don’t…” he said to Wesley.

“I definitely don’t mind,” Wesley said, eyes filled with all the wonder and beauty of Fred. She all but threw herself at them, knowing they would catch her and hold her safe. She turned her face up to first Gunn and then Wesley, accepting the lingering kisses they bestowed upon her perfect lips.

Wesley closed his eyes, the last of the tension draining out of him, leaving him limp and trembling. “We got you,” Gunn murmured into his ear as he and Fred lowered Wesley onto the bed and finished taking off Wesley’s shoes, socks, and trousers. Once down to his undergarments, Wesley slithered in between the sheets, getting comfortable. He was only mildly surprised when Fred and Gunn quickly undressed (Fred in a tee-shirt and panties, Gunn in just his boxers) and joined him, pushing him to the far side of the bed. Fred took up camp in the middle, with both men pushing as close to her as possible to keep their asses from hanging off. When they were all rested, they would see about locating a queen or king bed which were located elsewhere in the hotel - probably up in one of the suites.


	10. Willow's Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pairings: Tara/Willow, Anya/Xander, mentions of past relationships  
> This chapter's rating: Teen  
> Warnings: Alcohol and silliness

“Alright kidlets, let’s take this party up a notch, shall we?” Spike said, pulling a bottle of unknown liquid out of his coat.

Willow raised her eyebrows. “You do realise the point of Hanukkah is family and togetherness, not getting smashed.”

“Not according to Adam Sandler,” Xander countered. He frowned suddenly. “Are gin and tonics even kosher?”

“I think so?” Willow said. “I don’t know much about which liquors are kosher, other than wines.”

“Triple sec isn’t kosher,” Fred piped up.

“Really?” Wesley asked, looking fascinated - but then again he looked fascinated pretty much any time Fred opened her mouth. Willow hid a smile as she watched the two of them. “How did you know that?”

Fred scrunched up her face. “I asked the guy at the liquor store what we should avoid bringing to a Hanukkah party and he didn’t know so he looked it up on the internet. There was a lot of vague stuff about different kinds of liquor, but I remember that one is mentioned by name.”

“The wine you brought was a good choice,” Tara said.

“Is whiskey kosher? Because that’s what I brought,” Spike said, examining the bottle - which didn’t even have a label, much to Willow’s trepidation - as if it would give some insight into whether or not he could drink it without bringing the wrath of God down upon his unsouled head.

Willow shrugged. “I guess so.” Truth was, she’d eaten enough bacon cheeseburgers in her lifetime not to be too worried about dietary law. Not even her parents took it that seriously. This gathering on the first night of Hanukkah was more family bonding than true religious devotion anyway. The sun had gone down a little while ago, and Willow had recited the blessings as she lit the _shamash_ and used it to light the first candle on the menorah. It was almost funny to think about talking to God through prayer when one of her close friends was a literal conduit to The Powers That Be, but not funny enough to override the sense of peace and serenity that came with the ritual.

The others, lost in their own introspections, felt the same peacefulness - she had been able to tell from their auras and their relaxed shoulders. Everyone stayed silent even when Willow had finished, taking a moment to revel in the tranquility that was so rare in all of their lives. Willow was so grateful that the Los Angeles team had taken the time and effort to close their business, bundle up a tiny, fragile baby, and drive all the way to Sunnydale in time for the celebration.

They stayed in that moment of reflection, including Spike and Andrew both of whom normally couldn’t sit still for more than a minute at a time, until Connor began to fuss, and Angel had to go get his bottle ready. Everyone else drifted away, by themselves or in small groups: some headed for the kitchen, others for the dining room, and still others for the living room. The Summers house might be quite small, but there were plenty of nooks and crannies for a person to hide in if they wanted some quiet time, and whenever the whole group was over (which happened less and less often now that Connor was a consideration) it was easy enough to spread out and make everyone comfortable.

Willow, Xander, Fred, Wesley, Gunn, and Tara had taken up residence in the dining room, situated around the table. Then Spike had shown up with his bottle of mysterious origins and derailed the conversation entirely.

“That isn’t, like, moonshine is it?” Willow asked apprehensively.

Spike made a face at her, plunking the bottle down on the table in front of her and plopping his ass in the nearest chair. “Of course not. Have you ever had moonshine? They don’t make it like they used to, ‘course. Now there was a good time. Oi, Angel,” he yelled into the kitchen.

“What?” Angel appeared in the doorway, glaring at Spike. “Do you mind? Connor just fell asleep.”

“So throw the tyke upstairs and relax for a moment,” Spike said. “Won’t kill ya to let loose. I bet you’ve had some moonshine in your day.”

Still clearly puzzled, Angel glanced at the others as if for guidance. “Uh, sure I have. I was here during Prohibition. Drinking as much as I could, actually.” He made a face. “Not exactly pleasant memories. Why?”

Spike made a tsking sound. “What I wouldn’t give for someone who actually knew how to have fun back in the day. Going to a gin joint and getting as much alcohol as they’d give you and then killing the moonshiner and taking the rest -”

“Oookay, if this is turning into a trip down memory slaughterhouse, I’m leaving,” Willow said, starting to stand up.

“Alright, alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Spike said. “It’s not moonshine, I just peeled the label off because I was bored. Want a taste?”

“I’ll go get some cups,” Xander said, passing Angel on his way into the kitchen.

“And bring some mixers,” Fred called after him.

“I think Giles also brought some liquor, if we’ve reached that part of the night,” Tara said.

“We’ve definitely reached that part of the night,” Angel muttered, retreating into the kitchen to assist Xander.

“Let’s take this into the living room where we’ll be more comfortable,” Spike said.

Comfortable was a relative thing. Yes, there were cozier seats, but sixteen people and a baby tended to make one room feel very full. Over the course of the last several months, the Summers house had collected a variety of chairs and other sitting-devices (like beanbags and stools) that could be stored away when not in use. They’d been brought out for tonight, so there was plenty of seating to be had. The other good thing was since the television was not in use, there was more space to spread out since they didn’t all have to face the same direction.

“What’s up?” Dawn asked as the others filed into the living room. She, Andrew, and Jonathan had been playing cards on the floor, but stopped when they saw the bottle in Spike’s hand. 

Andrew eyed the bottle with interest. “Is that alcohol?”

Spike held it out to him. “Want some?”

Andrew took it from him, trying to look like he knew what he was doing. He unscrewed the cap. “Uh do I…. am I supposed to just drink it…?”

“Yup. Give it a good swig,” Spike said, mischief in his eyes.

“No,” Jonathan and Willow cried at the same moment, as Andrew lifted the bottle to do as Spike instructed. Jonathan grabbed it out out of his hand, accidentally sloshing a bit of alcohol on both of their hands in the process.

“Hey,” Andrew exclaimed. “What are you doing?”

“Saving your stupid life, apparently,” Jonathan grumbled, wrestling the cap out of Andrew’s clenched fist. He put the cap on and twisted it closed. “You can’t just drink alcohol straight from the bottle. Well, you can if you want to give yourself alcohol poisoning.”

Xander returned with a stack of those red cups that just seem to appear whenever more than five people are gathered in one place, along with a couple large bottles of soda. Cordelia followed with a bottle of cranberry juice. “Where should we put these?” Xander asked. The coffee table had been moved out of the room to make more space and there weren’t really any other flat surfaces for easy use.

“On the floor somewhere they won’t get knocked over, I guess?” Willow said. “Maybe we should keep the liquids in the kitchen.”

“Too far away,” Spike said. He tried to take the bottle back from Jonathan, but Jonathan was too busy accepting cups from Xander to notice.

Jonathan poured a shot and a half worth of whiskey into two cups, then topped them off with Sprite. “I think you’re supposed to drink whiskey with ginger ale, but Sprite or 7-Up also works,” he said, handing one of the cups to Andrew.

“You didn’t put in a whole lot of whiskey,” Andrew pouted.

“I put in plenty for you,” Jonathan countered drily. “Don’t drink that yet.”

Willow was a little impressed. She knew a couple things about alcohol, but mostly it was “pour some alcohol into a cup and then pour something else into the cup to make it drinkable.” The first time she had ever poured a drink herself, she hadn’t realised what a kick just a little bit of alcohol would have, and would have ended up with a serious hangover the next morning - if not worse - if she hadn’t had the presence of mind to dump the drink after she had drunk half of it.

Jonathan passed the bottle around, skipping Dawn, who protested that she should be allowed to have a little. She’d been allowed some wine at dinner, and it was making her feel more grown up than she actually was. The others who had been heretofore gathered in the kitchen made their way into the living room, as if the opening of a bottle of alcohol was some sort of homing device calling out to them. Giles produced a few more bottles of alcohol from some unknown stash: rum and gin and some flavoured vodka that smelled better than it tasted.

“Can I have a little?” Dawn asked Buffy, who was making a face at the rum and Coke that Spike offered her. “Just a tiny bit? Pleeeeeease? Half the people in this room aren’t the legal drinking age.”

“Yeah, but nobody else in this room is still in high school,” Buffy countered. “And nobody else is my legal responsibility.”

“Oh, go on,” Spike said. “Let the kid live a little. She’s the only one not drinking.”

“I’m not drinking,” Cordelia piped up. “Someone has to be sober enough to drive the truck back.”

“I can do that,” Lorne told her. “Demon physiology - alcohol doesn’t affect me.”

“Not even a little?” Andrew asked, eyes wide with wonder.

“Nope, not even the tiniest bit, my little pumpkin spice.”

“Wait, so why do you drink sea breezes so often?” Fred asked.

“Because I like the taste,” Lorne said.

Cordelia glanced at Angel. “You’re going to drive the car?”

“Yeah, I’ll be good to drive,” he assured her.

“Somebody pour me something, then,” Cordelia said. “I don’t care what, as long as it has alcohol in it.” She lowered herself to one of the beanbags that were thrown haphazardly around the room. “I don’t even know the last time I had a real drink.”

“God, remember the last time we all got drunk together?” Wesley said.

“I do,” Gunn said, shaking his head. “When we sang karaoke after Angel kicked our asses to the curb.”

“Hold on, what happened?” Dawn asked, momentarily sidetracked from her quest to obtain permission to drink alcohol. “What did Angel do?”

“Let’s, uh… let’s not rehash old stories right now,” Angel said, chuckling nervously. “Nobody wants to hear about that.”

“We learned a lot about ourselves and each other during that time,” Wesley said. “Like the fact that Cordelia’s affection can, in fact, be bought with new clothes.”

Cordelia stuck her tongue out at him. “You don’t understand the way a woman’s heart works, Wes.”

“I think he does a pretty good job,” Fred said.

By this point everyone had a drink except Dawn, who was making pleading eyes at her sister. “Oh, fine,” Buffy said. “But just a small one. And when you’re an alcoholic by 20, don’t come crying to me.”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “Very funny.”

“You can have a drink - but on one condition,” Buffy said. “Giles pours it for you.”

Giles looked at her, startled. “Don’t drag me into this,” he said. “When I was her age, alcohol was the least of my sins. Besides, the legal drinking age for us is 18, which I feel is much more sensible if I’m quite honest.”

“I’ll pour it,” Willow said. She took the bottle of flavoured vodka and poured half a shot (or at least she hoped it was about that much) into a red cup and then filled the rest with Sprite. She handed the mixture to Dawn, who thanked her.

“Can I drink it yet?” Andrew whined at Jonathan.

“Not until we cheers,” Jonathan said.

“What are we cheersing?” Willow wondered. They’d already done the traditional blessings and added a toast to the upcoming year.

There was a moment of quietness before Angel said softly, “Family. Old and new, close and those growing closer every day. To the only family that matters, those of us here in this house right now.” He looked at them all gathered in the living room, eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. His gaze lingered on Spike for an extra moment and there was a wry smile on his face as he raised his cup. “To family.”

“To family,” they all murmured in agreement, knocking cups with everyone in reach before taking a sip or a large gulp, depending on their level of comfort with alcohol.

“Alright,” Spike said when everyone had lowered their cups. “Enough of this sentimental shit. The game is Truth or Dare.”

“Are you literally a thirteen-year-old girl?” Buffy demanded.

Spike waggled an eyebrow at her. “I’m thinking you’d rather play spin the bottle, eh?”

Buffy rolled her eyes, refusing to dignify that with a response.

“Alright, Never Have I Ever it is, then,” Spike said.

“We’re not playing a stupid drinking game, Spike,” Angel said.

“I wanna play,” Andrew piped up instantly.

“I’ll play,” Fred added, which naturally made Wesley and Gunn both volunteer as well.

“I’m in, I suppose,” Willow said. “What do I have to do?”

“Everyone takes turns saying something they’ve never done. Anyone who has done that thing has to take a drink,” Spike explained. “You’re allowed to lie on your turn, but you still have to drink if you do.”

“I never would have guessed by the name,” Giles muttered into his drink. A little bit louder, so that the whole group could hear, he said, “I think I’ll just observe as you lot play.”

“I’m with you,” Angel said.

“I think I’m also going to sit it out,” Tara said. Willow shot her a questioning look and was reassured when Tara smiled at her - it was a smile that said she was okay for now but was on the edge of her comfort zone. Willow reached out to her and squeezed her hand.

Lorne also decided to observe over playing (“I’ve done too many things, it just wouldn’t be fair to the rest of you”) but everyone else was in, which meant an even dozen people sitting in a circle of stools and beanbag chairs on the floor of the living room.

“Okay, I’ll start,” Spike said. “Never have I ever…” He paused, thinking. Frowned. Thought a bit more. “Oh! No, wait….”

“You’ve never been on a roller coaster,” Angel supplied. “He’s scared of heights,” he added, for the benefit of the rest of the group.”

“I am not,” Spike sneered. “I’ve just never had the chance. Amusement parks aren’t exactly big on indoor roller coasters.”

“I think Six Flags has after-dark hours,” Xander said.

“Never have I ever founded a private investigation firm that took money off of poor innocent victims of supernatural activity,” Spike said sulkily.

“I’m not playing, dumbass,” Angel said. “Technically only Cordelia would have to drink on that one.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he exclaimed. “Never have I ever been on a roller coaster. Happy?”

Several people drank, though Willow was not one of them. It wasn’t that she was scared of roller coasters - much. She just preferred to do other things while at amusement parks, like see how much funnel cake she could eat before she began to feel sick, or goad Xander into trying to win the giant stuffed animals at various game booths. To Willow’s right, Dawn took a large drink and Buffy on Dawn’s other side quietly admonished her to take it easy. There wasn’t much alcohol in her drink, but if she went through it too quickly she wouldn’t be getting any more and she’d have to play the rest of the game with just juice or soda. Dawn pouted, but set her cup down to lower the temptation to drink it all right away.

Buffy was up next. “Never have I ever… made out with Xander.”

“Ouch, Buff. That really hurts, you know,” Xander joked as Cordelia, Anya, and Willow all drank.

“I think you have to take a drink too, Xander,” Cordelia said. She smirked at Willow. “Remember that time he kissed himself in the mirror?”

Willow’s eyes widened - she’d almost forgot about that. “Oh my god, yes!” Benji Richards’ twelfth birthday party - they’d all been daring each other to do ridiculous stuff and one thing had led to another…. She couldn’t really remember why it had seemed so funny at the time.

Xander’s jaw dropped. “That was a dare and it doesn’t count as making out.”

“If I have to relive painful memories, so do you,” Cordelia said, sticking her tongue out at him.

“Oh, ‘painful’ was it?” Xander muttered, taking a drink.

“I don’t find kissing you to be painful,” Anya informed him brightly. “Well, maybe sometimes when you get a little overexcited, but for the most part -”

“Whoa, I so do not want to be hearing this,” Gunn said loudly. “Can we move on?”

“Sorry, Xand,” Buffy said sheepishly. “I completely blanked, and Cordelia’s sitting right across from me so it was the first thing that popped into my head.”

“Hey,” Cordelia protested. “Is that really the first thing you think of when you look at me?”

“Never have I ever,” Dawn said loudly to cut off any more arguments, “uh, driven a car.”

“Wow, way to hit everyone at once, Dawnie,” Xander muttered, taking a drink. Around the circle, almost everyone did the same; Jonathan had to keep Andrew, who was so happy to finally be allowed to take a drink, from gulping half his cup’s contents at once.

“Not that all of us _should_ drive,” Gunn said.

“Is there a story behind that?” Willow asked. The whiskey in her cup in conjunction with the wine she’d had at dinner was starting to hit her now, making her head feel light and sweet.

“Fred learnt how to drive in Texas,” Wesley told her. “There was a bit of a, er, close call the last time Fred drove the Impala.”

“There was plenty of room in between me and that other person,” Fred protested. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve never been in an accident.”

“Wait your turn, luv,” Spike told her.

“Cordy once drove her car into our high school,” Willow told Fred, thinking this would somehow make her feel better. “But it was intentional, so I dunno if it counts as bad driving.”

Everyone laughed, which was weird because Willow hadn’t meant to be funny, but that was okay. It was her turn next. “Never have I ever….”

It was harder than it seemed. What had she never done that someone else in the circle had done. “Never have I ever died,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Silence filled the room, a general awkwardness as everyone pointedly didn’t look at Buffy. “Nice one, Wil,” Buffy said drily, taking a drink. Beside her, Spike did the same, snickering at everyone’s reaction.

“Technically you have died,” Anya said, after also taking a drink. “I saw it happen.”

“What?” Willow yelped, a little louder than she intended to in the sustained hush of the room. “No, I haven’t.”

“In the universe that Cordelia wished into existence, back when I was still a demon. You were a vampire, therefore you had died at some point,” Anya said, as if this were a perfectly normal thing for someone to say.

“Wait, if we’re bringing the multiverse into play here, then all of us have died at some point,” Jonathan said. “According to multiverse theory, there’s a universe for everything, including all of our deaths at various points in our lives.”

“Well, that’s morbid,” Xander said.

“So are we all supposed to drink?” Willow asked.

“We need someone to make executive judgement calls when there are complicated questions like this,” Wesley said.

“I’ll do it,” Tara volunteered. “And I say no to the multiverse. Let’s stick to this existence.”

Fred was up next. “Never have I ever been kissed by someone the same gender as me,” she said so quickly it was obvious she’d been rehearsing it in her head.

More people than Willow expected drank on this one: Gunn and Wesley, both blushing hard; Jonathan, furtively as if he hoped no one saw; Spike, somehow surprising absolutely no one; and Buffy.

“Okay, back up a bit,” Xander said as the people in question lowered their cups. “I’m gonna need some details. Not you two,” he said, pointing at Wesley and Gunn. “I don’t want to know. But, uh Buff?”

“Faith,” Buffy said, as if that explained everything. To be honest, it pretty much did.

“Jonathan?” Willow asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Jonathan shrugged. “A misunderstanding at college. I told the guy I wasn’t gay though and he was really nice about it.” Beside him, Andrew was scowling into his drink. Willow couldn’t help but feel sorry for the kid; there was a fair amount of speculation about what Andrew was into, but generally speaking even he didn’t seem to know. Willow silently wished him the best of luck getting it all figured out. It must’ve stung him to be sitting between Jonathan and Spike, who had both taken a drink on this round.

“Doesn’t anyone want to know about -” Spike started to ask.

“Angelus,” Cordelia and Buffy interrupted at the same time.

Spike sneered. “Well don’t you just know all.”

“We know how Angelus’ mind works, yes,” Buffy said.

Gunn was up next, then Wesley and Cordelia. With each turn the jabs became a little more pointed, but everyone was in too good a mood to be really offended. Anya pouted a bit because it turned out in 1100 years of demonhood, she had done quite a few things, but her temper was assuaged when on her turn she managed to take out everyone in the circle with “Never have I ever learned English as my first language.”

By the time the first round was over (Xander, Jonathan, and Andrew being the last ones to complete it), a few people were getting ready for refills. Jonathan edged around the circle to head upstairs for the bathroom, but must have been tipsier than everyone thought because he stumbled over nothing halfway there. Tara reached out to steady him.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” Jonathan replied, blushing wildly.

Buffy caught Willow’s eye and raised an eyebrow. Willow shrugged in return. Of course she knew about Jonathan’s huge crush on Tara - really who in their right mind wouldn’t have a crush on Tara if they were into girls - and she really didn’t mind. Jonathan was too respectful of Tara and Willow’s relationship and Tara as a person to be truly resentful.

“He’s not the only one feeling it,” Xander said, flopping backward. “Oof. That was a bad idea. Room go spinny.”

Dawn left her place in the circle to join Tara on the couch, curling up beside her. “Don’t fall asleep,” Tara warned her. “I’m not gonna be the one to carry you up to your bed.”

“I won’t,” Dawn promised, her eyes already fluttering shut.

Willow met Tara’s gaze, flashing her a smile. Things had been so strained between them for a while, but it was getting better now. With Jonathan and Tara and Giles’ help, Willow was getting her addiction to magic under control. I love you, Willow mouthed at Tara.

Love you too, Tara replied.

Everyone who had wandered away began to make their way back to the living room, but it was clear that the game was over. It was getting late, and the Fang Gang (as Xander had started calling Angel Investigations) needed to get home. Connor was content to sleep anywhere, but Angel wanted to get him home and put him down in his crib.

“Thanks for coming,” Willow said to them as everyone exchanged hugs and put on their coats and accessories.

“Of course,” Cordelia said, hugging her tightly. “We had a great time.”

“I think I’m going to head out, too,” Giles said. “Does anyone need a lift?”

Everyone slowly filtered out, leaving behind just the household residents, Xander, Anya, and Spike. Buffy nudged Spike with her foot. “Get out of here.”

“I will, I will.” But he made no move to actually leave.

“I’m going to sober up a little before I drive home if that’s okay,” Xander said.

“Sure,” Buffy told him. “If you guys need to crash here, you can use the couches.”

“Thanks.”

Tara shook Dawn’s shoulder. “Wake up, sweetie. You need to drink a glass of water and go to bed.”

Dawn mumbled something and burrowed deeper into the couch. “I got this,” Buffy assured them, gently lifting her sister into her arms as if she weighed no more than a pillow. A very tall, very gangly pillow. Willow fetched a glass of water from the kitchen and went upstairs to leave it on Dawn’s bedside table. She probably wouldn’t have a headache when she woke up - she’d barely had any alcohol, really - but the water would still be good for her.

She left Dawn’s room and was about to head downstairs again but Tara was already on her way up. “Spike finally left,” Tara said. “I think Xander and Anya are going to crash here.”

“Did anyone remember to blow out the menorah?” Willow asked.

“I took care of it.”

“Thanks.”

They entered their room and got ready for bed. Willow felt extra snuggly as she crawled under the covers; she didn’t indulge in alcohol often, but when she did it made her rather affectionate. When Tara joined her on the bed, Willow kissed her long and intensely, trying to convey every emotion she felt in that one kiss. “How are you the best thing that ever happened to me?” Willow whispered as she broke away.

Willow could feel Tara’s smile. “Go to sleep, you lush,” she teased.

Willow buried her head in the crook of Tara’s neck, breathing in her wonderful scent. She wondered if Buffy’s heaven could have even come close to this.


	11. Spike's Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pairings: Spike/Buffy, Angel/Cordelia (implied)  
> This chapter's rating: Teen  
> Warnings: Sexual violence (not as bad as in the show but still there)

As they walked into the hotel’s kitchen and saw the amount of food spread over the myriad counters and stoves, Spike was ninety percent sure that Andrew was going to piss himself.

To his credit, the kid was actually holding himself together fairly well, but Spike could practically see him vibrating from five feet away. Which really wouldn’t have been a big deal - or even all that unusual for Andrew - except he was carrying two armfuls of even more groceries and Spike really didn’t want to have to eat Christmas dinner off the floor.

“We, uh, we don’t really do much in here,” Angel said apologetically. “Cordelia’s idea of cooking is usually toaster waffles, and the others aren’t much better. I haven’t had time to do much lately what with Connor and everything.”

“It’s perfectly understandable,” Giles said, setting down his own burdens onto the counter next to the sink. “I think between the three of us, we should manage to turn out something decent.”

Andrew heaved the stuff he was carrying onto the kitchen island. “There’s four of us, though.”

Giles glanced at Spike, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you here to help us, Spike?”

“‘Course not,” Spike scoffed. “I’m here as your personal taste-tester. Can’t let you lot running the risk of serving substandard food, now can I? The very thought goes against my conscience.”

“You don’t have a conscience,” Angel said drily. “Go away so we can get started.”

“I’m not stopping you,” Spike retorted. He leaned against a wall, silently daring Angel to challenge him. “Look, I’m not even anywhere near the stove or oven or anything.”

“You want to stay in here? Fine. But you have to help,” Angel said.

Spike snorted. He didn’t have to stay holed up in the kitchen if he didn’t want to. He could go out and decorate the lobby with the others - or to be more accurate, lounge on the couch while the others decorated. That lot were more likely to let him get away with not helping.

Except Buffy was out there, and she was getting on his last nerve just this moment, so yeah okay the kitchen did seem like the better option in the long run.

Of course there was the small fact that Angel was also getting on his last nerve just by existing, so….

Spike huffed irritably, grabbing the nearest bag and emptying its contents rather indelicately.

“Be careful,” snapped Mr. Uptight (better known to his friends as “Giles” for some reason). “If you spoil anything, you’ll be going to the grocery to replace it.”

“Help, don’t help - make up your bloody mind, will you?” Spike snarled.

“Is everything set for the turkey?” Giles asked Angel, ignoring Spike, who was crumpling up empty grocery bags as loudly as possible.

“Yeah, I made the stuffing yesterday.” Angel turned on one of the four ovens, setting the preheat for 350 degrees. “Just need to stuff it and put it in. Should take about five hours.”

“Then I better get started on these appetizers,” Giles said. “I don’t fancy telling that lot they’re going to have to wait five hours before getting any food.”

“Wait, I brought something, hold on,” Andrew said, digging through various bags until he found what he was looking for: two covered trays of cinnamon rolls. “I haven’t made the icing yet but I have all the ingredients.”

“Well done, Andrew,” Giles said, taking one of the trays from him. “That was good planning ahead.”

Andrew beamed under the praise and put the tray on one of the counters out of the way. It was good they had so much space to work with because feeding sixteen people was no small task. As Angel busied himself with the turkey, Spike finished unpacking the last of the groceries, sneaking bites of whatever was easily munchable and wouldn’t be missed. Andrew had been put in charge of desserts, while Giles would be taking care of appetizers, and Angel ran the entree foods (turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, and asparagus).

Spike reached over Andrew’s shoulder to tear a small piece off one of the cinnamon rolls. “Hey,” Andrew exclaimed, pushing him away. “That one’s yours when I finish with it.”

Spike shrugged. The roll was bloody good, if he were quite honest, and he had a sneaking suspicion the kid had made them from scratch. It would hardly put Spike out to have to finish eating something so delicious. He watched Andrew dump sugar, butter, vanilla, and a dash of milk into a mixing bowl. “Would you mind turning one of the ovens on low so I can reheat these?” Andrew asked Spike.

“Why yes, Andrew, I would love to since you asked so politely,” Spike said pointedly, smirking at Angel who looked up from stuffing the turkey to glower at him. Spike sauntered over to the oven nearest to the one Angel was going to use, dialing the knob to a low setting. He could practically hear Angel’s teeth grinding; too bad the turkey was just about the only thing the poor sod could stuff without risking losing his soul. If anyone in the history of the universe needed to get laid more than Giles, it was definitely Angel. And frankly Spike didn’t care who as long as it wasn’t Drusilla. Or Buffy. Buffy….

Spike shoved the cinnamon rolls into the oven with perhaps more force than was strictly necessary.

“Spike, if you are finished throwing things around, would you help me cut this cheese?” Giles asked.

The joke was there on the tip of his tongue, but no it was too juvenile even for him. “Fine,” he sighed. He took the brick of manchego from Giles (after washing his hands at Angel’s insistence and with much eye rolling), grabbed a knife from the cutlery drawer, and took both over to the island so he could work in relative peace. Giles needed the cheese cut into small blocks that could easily be put into dates for his cheese-stuffed dates wrapped in bacon. Would have been a good appetizer to serve on Hanukkah, Spike had joked earlier, but no one had laughed. Bunch of prigs.

The turkey went into the oven, neatly encased in the turkey roasting pan with a lid that Angel had bought just for this occasion. Andrew finished with his frosting and slathered incredible amounts onto the reheated cinnamon rolls. He took both trays out to the waiting masses, leaving behind the one Spike had already nibbled on. Maybe Spike was just imagining it, but that one seemed to have even more frosting than the others.

Cutting the cheese into even slices was tedious, mind-numbing work, but that was exactly what Spike needed right now: a numb brain. Angel must have stolen Cordelia’s iPod at some point because he now hooked it up to a speaker and selected some classical bullshit that was easy to zone out on. 

At least it wasn’t Barry Manilow.

They worked more or less in silence, with the occasional query or request, sometimes shouted over the noise of electric beaters or food processors. Even Andrew was relatively quiet, only babbling a little, and mostly to himself or Spike. It was hard to tell if Giles or Angel were even listening, though Angel gave it his level best. Normally Spike wasn’t a huge fan of peace - he generally could only go about an hour before the need to wreck havoc rose within him - but right now it felt good. It felt right. The Slayer caused enough havoc in his head to last him a lifetime.

“Can you pass me those herbs?” Angel asked Spike.

Spike ignored him.

“Spike?” Angel glanced over his shoulder. “For God’s sake they’re right next to you.”

“Little busy, mate,” Spike told him, not looking up. He had cut about a hundred little blocks of cheese and was now pushing each one into a pitted date.

Angel huffed, about as scary as a toothless puppy, and came over to grab the spices he had selected for the ham. Spike couldn’t stop the smirk that twisted his lips at Angel’s annoyance.

“Pumpkin?” Andrew asked.

“Yes, cupcake?” Spike replied, taking perhaps too much delight in how badly it made Andrew blush.

“I mean, where’s the pumpkin?” Andrew clarified, carefully not looking Spike in the eye. “I need to cut it up and start boiling it.”

“Still in the boot of Xander’s car,” Giles said, pausing in his ministrations to nudge his glasses back into place using his shoulder because his hands were covered in dough for the cheddar gougeres.

“Where’s the bacon for this stuff?” Spike asked as Andrew disappeared again, this time to track down his errant pumpkin.

Angel pulled a large parcel wrapped in butcher paper out of the industrial sized refrigerator. That was a whole helluva lot of bacon. 

“You should only need half a slice per date,” Giles instructed. “It looks like we have plenty, but try not to waste any.”

“I would never,” Spike told him, feigning hurt at the suggestion that he would be anything less than frugal. Then, before both men turned back to their own tasks, Spike popped an entire slice of uncooked bacon into his mouth.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Giles muttered. “Grow up.”

“You’re disgusting, Spike,” Angel said.

“Pig’s blood, pig’s meat - what’s the difference?” Spike said. “‘S not like I’m about to catch trichinosis now, am I?”

Andrew returned with two small pie pumpkins cradled in one arm and stuffing Xander’s car keys into his pocket with the other hand. “Wanna see something cool?” Spike asked him.

“Sure,” Andrew said immediately, attentive and eager.

“Spike,” Angel warned. “Either behave or go help the others in the lobby.”

“You know, it suddenly occurs to me that I’m not your employee nor your buggering son. I don’t have to do what you tell me,” Spike said, slamming the bacon down on the kitchen island. He wanted to knock over one of the trays of dates for added drama, but damnit, he’d worked hard on the little fuckers. “I can stay in here without doing your work for you if I want, and if you don’t like it, you can just fuck off already.”

Andrew glanced from Spike to Angel, not really sure if this was the cool thing he was supposed to be watching.

“Whatever the hell crawled up your ass, Spike, it’s not my problem. It stopped being my problem a long time ago,” Angel said.

“Sod off,” Spike sneered. Angel rolled his eyes and turned back to the food. The moment he did, Spike grabbed a nearby meat cleaver and made like he was about to cut Angel’s head off. He was just dicking around (mostly); killing Angel for real would cause too many complications and consequences he did not particularly want to deal with. Andrew watched his fake attack and giggled nervously.

Angel looked around to see what Andrew found so funny. Spike had a split second to register the change in demeanour before Angel was on him, wrenching the cleaver out of his hand with enough force to cause serious damage on a weaker being than a vampire. Before Spike could gather himself enough to put up a struggle, Angel had his arm behind his back and was forcing him towards the kitchen door. “Enough messing around,” Angel growled. “I’ve had it up to here with you, Spike.”

“Ooooh I do so love it when you get rough, mate,” Spike panted, trying to wiggle out of Angel’s iron grip.

“You come prancing into my home, among my family, pretending like you’re reformed and repentant now. You may have the others fooled, but I know you,” Angel said, voice strained with the effort of pushing an uncooperative Spike towards the door. “I’ve known you longer than all of my teammates’ ages combined, and I know that as soon as we’re no longer convenient or helpful to you, you’ll turn your back on us without another thought.”

“You don’t know shit,” Spike snarled. He went ragdoll-limp suddenly, which caught Angel offguard enough that he overbalanced and both vampires fell to the floor with a loud crash as they tumbled into the swinging door. The voices that Spike could just make out down the short hallway that connected the kitchen to the lobby ceased abruptly and then two sets of footsteps approached.

Spike and Angel were still struggling to disentangle themselves (Giles was ignoring them and Andrew didn’t seem to know who to help or how) when the door swung inwards and smacked them both in the head. “What the hell?” Cordelia’s voice asked, then the door swung outwards to reveal her and Buffy both staring down at the vampires on the floor with matching expressions of exasperation.

There was a moment of chagrined silence, then Cordelia said, “Let me guess: you guys wanted to play Twister but forgot the mat?”

Angel shoved himself away from Spike and stood up. If he were human, he’d be blushing. “Spike seems to have taken a wrong turn trying to be somewhere useful and not in the way, and I was just helping him find his way out.”

“He has a habit of doing that,” Buffy said.

Spike leaped to his feet and rounded on them, a movement that would have been much more dramatic if he’d been wearing his duster. “Oh yes, let’s all gang up on big bad Spike,” he snapped. “Used to be evil now he just gets in everyone’s way never mind that he’s a good guy now - he’s ever so much fun to kick around.” He grabbed his duster from where he had draped it over an unused counter earlier and shoved past the women, ignoring Angel’s eye-rolling and Buffy’s put-upon sigh. They didn’t want him around? That was fine. Spike could do the lone wolf routine for Christmas. Wouldn’t be the first time, after all. He’d just have to lay low for a while - Angel had to have some access to the sewers around here somewhere - and when night fell, he’d hitch a ride back to Sunnydale and…

And what? Was it finally time to move on? The thought made his motionless heart hurt. Maybe he had overstayed his welcome in a town that never really wanted him in the first place, but leaving Sunnydale would mean giving up more than just the small home he had built for himself. It would be saying goodbye to any hope he ever had regarding the Slayer, goodbye to the tenuous friendships he’d started building. Most importantly though, it would be saying goodbye to Dawnie. And that was something he was fairly sure he could not do.

Avoiding the lobby, Spike wandered passages and hallways, cursing himself, cursing Angel, cursing every name that came to mind. Would it really be so much trouble to have big neon arrows and signs that said “Sewers This Way”? He tried a likely-looking door and was disappointed to find it led directly to the sunny outdoors. There was about two feet of shade right outside where an overhang blocked the sun - just enough room for him to grab a smoke before resuming his search.

Testing the door to make sure he’d be able to get back inside once he stepped out, Spike sidled along the side of the building, avoiding the sun. Why didn’t he ever crash somewhere that rained 90% of the time? Somewhere small and anonymous - maybe in Washington state somewhere. He could head there next, see what was what - but bugger did he hate rain. Not good for the smokes, for one thing. For another, the endlessness of it got on his nerves. And lurking in dark alleyways at night held less appeal when you could do the same in the dreary daytime.

Spike pulled his cigarettes out of his coat pocket, selected one, and tapped it carefully to resettle the tobacco flakes. He flicked his lighter to flame and lit the cigarette. Merciful heaven, that was just what he needed. He took another drag, revelling in the bitter smell that invaded his sensitive nose.

A shadow rounded the side of the building, a shadow Spike had unfortunately come to know all too well. Buffy paused, looking around, and if Spike had anywhere to hide he would have. Unfortunately, she spotted him immediately and came over. He looked away, pretending he did not see her; he was not in the mood to be told off right now.

“I’m sorry.”

Spike glanced at her suspiciously out of the corner of his eye. What was this, then?

“Things are weird right now,” she continued. “I mean, weirder than usual. I know it’s not a great excuse because our lives are always one level of weirdness piled on top of another, but I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.” She paused, then burst out, “It’s just you’re always there!”

Spike raised an eyebrow, still not quite turning to face her. “So are all your other halfwit friends.”

“Yeah, but it’s different with you. You’re…. you’re….”

“I’m what, love?” Spike asked.

Buffy’s face contorted. “Infuriating. Disgusting. Shameless. And way too easy to talk to about stuff I can’t tell my friends about.”

Because of course that was all Spike was ever good for, being precious Buffy’s little sounding board when no one else would listen - not that they could listen when Buffy herself refused to talk in the first place. “As apologies go, pet, I’m not sure I’m really feeling the sincerity in this one,” Spike scoffed.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “What do you want from me?”

Excitement. Challenge. Love. “I keep telling you, I want to sodding be left alone!”

“And yet here you are again,” Buffy said, her temper getting the better of her. “You’re like a bad fungus we can’t get rid of! Who ever even said you were welcome here?”

“You did! You and your sister both when you went off and played harps and sipped ambrosia or whatever it was you did when you were dead. Someone had to look after her, since obviously your nearest and dearest weren’t exactly up to the task.” He jabbed the butt of his cigarette into the wall and watched the ash smear across the facade.

“Well, consider your usefulness ended,” Buffy said coldly. The jibe about Heaven had struck a nerve that was still quite sore but Spike could not bring himself to care right about now. “I’m back and perfectly capable of taking care of Dawn -”

“Sure you are, love. You keep telling yourself that.”

Buffy shoved him against the wall, getting in his face. That wasn’t the result he had been going for, but who was he to argue? “You don’t know anything, Spike. You’re over a century old but you still have the emotional maturity of a twelve-year-old mama’s boy who can’t -”

Spike’s higher brain functions shut down and before he could jump start them back into working order, he had reversed their positions. He slammed Buffy up against the wall, heard her head hit it with a small sound that he wanted to repeat louder until she was incapable of speaking or doing anything else. She was struggling against his hands but he had the advantage and she was saying something he couldn’t make out and he just wanted her to shut up so his nonfunctional brain followed through with the only thought that it could formulate, bringing his mouth to cover hers in a biting, violent kiss.

Buffy shoved him off, then for good measure shoved him hard again, pushing him out of the strip of protective shade. Spike yelped as he felt the sun already begin to scorch his skin, even as he was already leaping back under cover. Before he could gather enough wherewithal to properly tell her off for nearly murdering him, she turned and fled into the hotel through the door Spike had exited from. In the wake of her departure, Spike caught a whiff of salty tears.

He leaned against the wall, feeling the adrenaline seep out of his system (and wasn’t it weird that vampires’ adrenal glands still worked when so much other stuff didn’t, but maybe it was some sort of survival thing and anyway Spike didn’t particularly give a shit right now). She wanted him gone, Angel wanted him gone…. Fine. That was just bloody fantastic, really. He’d hate to pull up stakes if there was any tiny sign of someone wanting to keep him around. Thank God - or whatever - there was no such ambivalence and he could leave with complete peace of mind.

Well, except for Dawnie. She wouldn’t understand. Everyone was always leaving the poor girl - they may come back eventually but never quite the same. Spike would just be another disappointment in a long list that got longer every year.

He rubbed his forehead with both hands. Best to get her used to it early. Life was nothing but one disappointment after another; unlife even more so. Maybe he could still write to her every once in a while.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat out there against that wall but it was long enough for the shadows to widen, affording enough protection that he could stretch out his legs. Long enough that he smoked three more cigarettes. He was just considering standing up and leaning against a different part of the wall for variety when the door opened and Andrew poked his head out, glancing around cautiously. When he spotted Spike sitting on the ground, he looked relieved.

“You’re still here,” he said. “Buffy said you might’ve left but that didn’t make any sense since it’s still daylight.”

“Sewers, mate,” Spike mumbled around a half-smoked cigarette. “How d’you suppose the great git does his superhero routine if he can’t work a few daylight hours?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Andrew said, stepping fully outside. He was wearing just a t-shirt and jeans, and he shivered slightly in the cool winter air. He carried a large mixing bowl. “I guess The Powers That Be don’t really limit their messages to after-dark hours, huh?”

“Guess not,” Spike agreed. He gestured at the bowl in Andrew’s arms. “Wuzzat then?”

Andrew glanced down, looking surprised as though he had forgotten he had it. “Red velvet cake batter. I got it from this girl I know online who trades recipes with me all the time. She’s really cool and likes Star Trek but she’s never seen Star Wars how lame is -”

“Why’s it out here?” Spike interrupted, trying to keep Andrew on track. “Sun’s not actually hot enough to bake a cake, especially this time of year.”

“Mr. Giles thinks the batter is too sweet and Mr. Angel thinks it’s not sweet enough. I can’t decide, so I thought I’d ask your opinion,” Andrew said, settling on the ground next to Spike.

“If you asked Buffy where to find me, why didn’t you just ask her what she thought of the batter,” Spike said, trying hard not to sound too harsh.

“I wanted your opinion, not Buffy’s. She always tells me everything tastes good but I need someone who’ll tell me the truth.” Andrew stirred the batter lazily with the large wooden spoon that was sticking out of the bowl. “Besides the kitchen was all quiet when you left and Buffy was also really snippy when I asked where you’d gone. What did you do?”

“‘S grown up stuff,” Spike told him. “Not for little kiddie ears.”

“I’m not a kid,” Andrew protested. “I know things!”

Spike reached for the batter with his pinkie but before he could snag a fingerful, Andrew batted him away. “You’ve got stinky cigarette hands,” he said. Using the spoon to scoop up a small amount of batter, Andrew held it in front of Spike’s mouth. Spike took the spoon out of Andrew’s hand; he was willing to put up with a lot from the kid, but he drew the line at being fed like a baby.

Even to his dulled vampire taste buds, the batter was incredible. It wasn’t so much that it needed more sugar, but Angel was probably thinking of a certain someone’s overactive sweet tooth when he said that. The way Angel fawned over that girl was ridiculous - sometimes Spike wanted to shout at him to shit or get off the pot already.

“It’s pretty good,” Spike said. Best not to let the kid get an overinflated ego if he could help it. “Cream cheese frosting on top?”

“Of course,” Andrew said, sounding scandalised. “You can’t have red velvet cake without cream cheese frosting.”

Spike swiped a little more batter from the bowl and shoved the entire spoon into his mouth before Andrew could properly try to stop him. Andrew made a face but did not say anything. After a few seconds, he began to fidget: first wiping bits of batter from the outside of the bowl, then setting the bowl down on the concrete and spinning it in circles. He ought to be getting back inside to finish with the cake but he didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry to leave Spike alone again. Spike wondered idly how long the boy could sit in silence before bursting out with some random nerdy fact.

“I’m leaving,” Spike said after a few minutes.

“Okay,” Andrew said. “Can I have my spoon back before you go?”

Spike thumped his head against the wall. “No, you git. I mean I’m leaving Sunnydale. Soon as this bullshit dinner is over or the sun is set and I can head out on my own, whichever comes first.”

Andrew frowned. “Why?”

“None of your business,” Spike muttered.

“Is it because you and Buffy are fighting again?” Andrew asked

“It’s because of a lot of reasons,” Spike said. He didn’t want to get into all of it right now, but if anyone would be there to look out for Dawnie it’d be this scrawny dork.

“I don’t think you should go,” Andrew declared.

Spike raised an eyebrow. “No? And why exactly would that be?”

“Because… because that’s just running away from your problems rather than dealing with them,” Andrew said.

“And who taught you that? Barney the dinosaur?”

Andrew, however, remained unfazed. “Captain Mal did. And Captain Kirk. And Captain Picard. And Captain America. And-”

“Okay okay, I get the picture,” Spike said before he could list every captain ever portrayed in media.

“Besides, Dawn would miss you,” Andrew said, jabbing at the batter with his newly reclaimed spoon and not quite meeting Spike’s gaze.

“I’m well aware of that but -”

“And so would I,” Andrew concluded.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Well that’s quite the ringing endorsement,” he said. “You and Dawnie against everyone else.”

“The group wouldn’t be the same without you,” Andrew whined. “It wouldn’t be as much fun.”

Now that was definitely true. “Tough titties,” Spike growled. “I’m sick of playing silly buggers with this lot. ‘S time for me to move on and go back to looking after yours truly.”

“That’s really selfish of you,” Andrew said.

Spike rolled his eyes. This was the problem with hero worship - Andrew only saw an idealised version of Spike and not the real one. “And your point is? _Hello_ I’m a vampire.”

“Dawnie says you’re better than all that,” Andrew countered.

“Dawnie should know better than to trust me,” Spike said.

“Just because you don’t trust you doesn’t mean the rest of us shouldn’t,” Andrew said, tears welling up in his eyes.

Spike stared at him, shocked. The kid was not the most perceptive at the best of times, but that…. well that just was damn well not true. Spike only trusted himself. He was the only person he could actually rely on when all was said and done. “You’re an idiot. What the hell are you talking about?”

“I don’t know,” Andrew howled. The tears hadn’t fallen yet but they were wobbling dangerously. “It’s like you don’t trust yourself not to get hurt or not to hurt us so you’re pushing us away like it’s going to protect you but it’s not.”

“Stop that, you’re gonna get tears in your batter and make it all salty,” Spike said, ignoring how rattled the kid’s words made him feel. Andrew sniffled, wiping his eyes hurriedly on his t-shirt. “I’m not scared of my emotions.”

“I didn’t say scared, I said you don’t trust them. Like how B’Elanna uses the holodeck to put her bad emotions outside herself in Extreme Risk, you know?”

“You completely lost me,” Spike said. “Is that a Doctor Who thing?” The kid seemed to think that just because Spike was British he knew everything about Doctor Who. It didn’t help that apparently Giles had grown up watching the damn show and understood way too many of the references.

“Star Trek,” Andrew corrected. “Voyager, to be specific. B’Elanna is-”

“I don’t care,” Spike interrupted. “I trust my emotions just fine, and what’s more is I trust my instincts which are telling me to get out while I still can.”

“I think your instincts are wrong,” Andrew said. “I can prove it to you.”

“How?”

Andrew looked at him guilelessly. Anyone else this would have been a well thought out tactical move, but for him it was just sheer matter of fact: “I can’t prove it to you if you leave.”

The universe had to be taking the piss right now, there was no other explanation. “How long will you need to prove that I’m wrong - or for me to prove I’m right?”

Andrew thought very carefully. “A year?”

“Three weeks.”

“Three months.”

“Deal.”

Andrew stuck out his hand solemnly, which Spike shook. “And no cheating either,” Andrew said before letting Spike’s hand go. “You can’t like… be extra mean just to prove anything.”

“You have my word,” Spike said. “Such as it is. Everything will continue same as it has been.”

Andrew nodded decisively. “Okay.” He stood up. “I’m going back inside now. I need to check on my pies.”

Spike waved him off, then slowly got to his feet and followed him inside. He took a short detour to peer into the lobby to watch the others. The decorations were up and everyone was relaxing, passing the baby around. Buffy was off to the side slightly, watching but not really joining in. She was the only one who noticed Spike lingering in the doorway; her smile dropped and she looked troubled, but she did not avoid his gaze so maybe it wasn’t all that bad. Maybe it was even salvageable. He turned away.

Back in the kitchen, Andrew was already yammering away at Giles and Angel. Angel looked up when Spike entered. He frowned, but Spike ignored him in favour of shrugging off his duster and washing his hands.

“Is there anything left needs doing?” Spike asked gruffly, refusing to look at Angel directly.

Angel hesitated, not sure if this was a trick. “I don’t really have anything,” he said cautiously “Unless you want to keep an eye on the turkey and make sure it colours evenly? It won’t need to be basted in that pan, but if it looks like it’s getting dry use your judgement.”

Spike had a joke about turkey basters right on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed it down. “Sure thing.” He sauntered over to the oven that held the cooking turkey and hopped up to sit on the counter next to it. Angel’s lips twisted slightly but he did not say anything.

As peace offerings went, it was subtle and probably unnoticed by the other men in the room, but for Spike and Angel it meant more than either of them would ever acknowledge.


	12. Tara's Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pairings: Tara/Willow, Cordelia/Angel (implied one-sided)  
> This chapter's rating: Teen  
> Warnings: Addiction (Willow's)

The Hyperion looks like any normal building from the outside. Even to amateur witches or lesser demons, it would continue to feel ordinary unless the person in question decided to investigate deeper. Only the most sensitive ones would be able to tell at a glance that the hotel was wrapped from top to bottom in protection spells cast by five different witches and warlocks of varying degrees of power. And that wasn’t even to mention the tidbits done by Lorne and his trio of mystical girlfriends.

As Tara approached the Hyperion, she felt the familiar wash of warmth and safety that greeted her every time she entered the building. She knew without probing too hard which spells had been cast by herself, Willow, Wesley, Giles, and Jonathan, and those which had combined power behind them. There were spells to promote peace, health, goodwill, as well as those to deter violence and malice. Anyone who entered the Hyperion with the intent to do harm would promptly forget what had brought them there. This included people who meant to rob a supposedly defenseless hotel, so that if no one was left behind to man the lobby it was okay if they forgot to lock the front door. Which also meant that the doors remained open to anyone seeking refuge 24 hours a day as long as they did not mind waiting around for L.A.’s champion to come home (usually covered in muck and slime but it was amazing how often Los Angeles’s most hopeless citizens barely even batted an eye - they had seen too much already and lost that sense of horror).

Or, alternatively, it meant that a friend could pop in at any time to borrow a book or leave a present or just say hello - or all three, such as Tara was doing right now.

The lobby was completely silent when Tara entered; she checked Wesley’s office (although why they continued to call it that when it was pretty obvious Angel was back in charge of Angel Investigations, she wasn’t quite certain) just in case he was buried in a book, but no such luck. Behind the front counter, on Cordelia’s desk, Tara found the book she had been sent to L.A. to retrieve. Wesley and Andrew were loosely collaborating on rewriting a summoning spell to use in transporting objects from the Hyperion to the Magic Box or vice versa, but they were in no particular rush to get it done. Personally, Tara did not mind the two hour drive when it was in Giles’ convertible. Especially today when she was not squished in the back seat with Dawnie and Willow but instead at the wheel and able to select her own music. 

She had been the first to volunteer when Giles said, quite regretfully, that he needed someone to fetch a book from Los Angeles. Anya didn’t put up any protest, to Tara’s surprise; apparently Anya was willing to let others pitch in when it didn’t have to do with the cash register or when it was a task she had no patience for. Besides, Tara had a belated birthday present she wanted to give Cordelia.

Except Cordelia apparently wasn’t there. None of the Fang Gang (as Xander had taken to calling the members of Angel Investigations) were. Tara climbed the stairs, knowing that if anyone was still around they were probably in Angel’s room with Connor.

It turned out Tara was half right. She eased the bedroom door open, not wanting to wake the baby if he was asleep in his crib. What she found instead was Cordelia asleep on Angel’s bed, curled up on top of the covers. Her hand was positioned awkwardly as if it had been wrapped around something that had been taken out of her grip. Creeping past the bed, Tara glanced into the crib to check on Connor, but he wasn’t there. She wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not. He was too young to have rolled off on his own, and the protections on the hotel would prevent a kidnapping, but where was he? Had Angel taken him off somewhere? Angel wasn’t usually big on the father-son outings but it wasn’t completely out of the question.

Tara set her small present on Angel’s bureau and looked around for something she could leave a note with. She had located a pen and was still hunting for a scrap of paper when Cordelia’s hand twitched, groping for whatever wasn’t there. Tara froze, not wanting to disturb her any further, but that hope was dashed when Cordelia sat up with a cry, staring wildly around her at the bed.

“Cordy, i-it’s okay,” Tara said, coming over to her. She reached a hesitant hand out to rest on Cordelia’s shoulder, but Cordelia jerked out of her grip, peering over the edge of the bed and all around.

“I dropped him, Fred, I…” Cordelia looked up at Tara, blinked. “Tara? Where’s Connor?”

“N-n-not here,” Tara stammered. “I d-don’t know. H-he’s not i-in his crib. The others a-aren’t downs-s-stairs either so I...” Her voice trailed off weakly.

Cordelia stared helplessly around herself, as if Connor might pop out of the bedclothes all smiles and wriggliness. She looked more disheveled than Tara had ever seen her before, even right after a vision.

“C-can I-”

Cordelia lunged for her cell phone, which was on the bedside table, popped it open, and began furiously hitting keys. The volume was up loud enough that Tara could hear the phone on the other end ring once, twice, and then a male voice asking, “Cordy?”

“Where they hell are you? What did you do with Connor?” Cordelia snapped.

“Connor?” Tara could just make out the befuddled tone in Angel’s voice. “He’s here with us. We took him for ice cream.”

“You didn’t think to leave a note or something?”

There was a small rustling on the other end and Tara couldn’t hear what Angel said in reply. But she got the gist when Cordelia made a noise of frustration and said, “Well maybe I wouldn’t have minded being disturbed if it meant I wouldn’t wake up in a panic because I thought I’d dropped Connor off the bed. Or gee maybe I might have wanted to get some ice cream too.” There were more muffled sounds, to which Cordelia replied coldly, “I think I can decide that for myself.” She hung up on him before he could say anything further.

Cordelia looked up at Tara, who was trying not to draw any attention to herself. She sighed. “I’m not angry with you,” she assured Tara.

“I-I know,” Tara said. “Th-they went out for ice cream in J-January?”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Fred’s idea, of course. She decided she wanted ice cream, and you know how she gets when she wants something.”

Tara smiled understandingly. “Sh-she has a bit of a one-track mind.”

“To say the least,” Cordelia said drily. She frowned at the phone in her hand for a moment before flipping it back open and hitting a couple of keys. The phone rang only once before there was a tentative “Hello?” which was overridden by Cordelia’s next words. “And bring us back two pints of cookie dough fudge mint chip.” She hung up before Angel could fumble a reply.

Tara shifted on her feet slightly. She didn’t want to presume, but that sounded like Cordelia wanted her to stick around. She didn’t have to get back to Sunnydale in any particular rush but it wasn’t like they were exactly bosom friends. Maybe that’s why Cordelia wanted her around right now: she was feeling lonely and vulnerable, though she tried to hide it from Tara. She probably would have succeeded, too, except Tara was highly adept at reading people’s emotions even from a distance. “I, uh…. I brought you a birthday present,” she said, holding out the little box. “S-since I was coming by today a-anyway to get the b-book for Giles, um, I figured I’d bring it with me.”

Cordelia’s face softened into a small smile. “That’s so sweet of you. I thought you were in on the beautiful dress you guys gave me last week?” She accepted the box gently as if afraid that it - or Tara - might break if not handled with care.

Tara returned her smile with a somewhat shaky one of her own. “I w-was but I saw these earrings that will match it perfectly and I just had to get them for you.”

Cordelia opened the box. “They’re beautiful,” she breathed. She pulled Tara in for a fierce hug, which Tara returned with equal strength. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” Tara said. She frowned suddenly, realising something was missing. “C-Cordelia, um, I don’t mean to be n-nosy b-but where is the ch-charm Jonathan made for you?”

Cordelia’s hand flew distractedly to her chest where the pendant usually lay. She set the earrings down on Angel’s dresser, biting her lip. “I took it off for a little while.”

Something in Cordelia’s tone worried Tara. “Was it bothering you? Is the magic wearing down? We can renew the strength on the spells if that’s the case.” When still Cordelia hesitated, Tara shook her head. “I-I know you don’t like a-asking for help but you don’t have to - I’m offering it with no strings or judgement attached.”

Cordelia nodded once, decisively. “It’s downstairs in my desk. Come on.”

She led the way downstairs. It was still peaceful in the lobby; the others had not returned yet and no potential clients had wandered in. Tara leaned against the front counter while Cordelia opened one of the drawers in her desk and pulled out the charm. She handed it to Tara delicately.

It was completely charred to a crisp and twisted beyond recognition.

“Oh, Cordelia,” Tara gasped. “What happened?”

“We don’t know. Angel’s freaked, but he’s pretty much always freaked about everything these days. Wesley’s kind of looking into it, but we don’t have much to go on. It happened on my birthday. I had this vision that was like… well, the vision itself was pretty much run of the mill, but….” She paused, thinking back to that day. The Scoobies hadn’t been able to make it down to L.A. for her actual birthday but they had come the very next day and everyone had been acting perfectly normal. Now Tara thought about it, though, Angel had had a wariness in his eyes and Cordelia had been wearing a higher neckline than normal, probably to mask the absence of the necklace.

“I felt like I was being pulled out of my body,” Cordelia continued at last. “Like something was trying to take me away and the only thing keeping me anchored was this charm.” She met Tara’s bewildered gaze. “No ideas, huh?”

“Sorry,” Tara said. “Connections to h-higher powers are a little outside my a-arena.”

Cordelia took the charm back. “I figured as much. Wesley keeps saying the same thing.”

“We can make you a new one,” Tara offered, but Cordelia looked troubled.

“But what if the same thing happens again?”

Tara’s face crumpled with worry. “What if it happens again and you don’t have a charm to protect you?”

“What if I do and it still isn’t enough, though?” Cordelia whispered.

Tara’s heart broke for her. She was so scared and trying to hold it together not only for the sake of her team, but for the little boy whose safety was in her hands. Before she could say anything comforting - as if there was anything that could be said in a situation like this - the front door opened and Fred, Wesley, Gunn, and Lorne came in, Gunn carrying little Connor in his arms. Lorne was wearing a fedora dipped low and his coat collar popped to hide as much of his face as possible, but anyone who looked at him for more than half a second would be able to see he was not exactly human.

“Hi Tara, hey Cordy,” Fred greeted them with bubbly enthusiasm. “Didja sleep well?”

“Like a log,” Cordelia said drily as Angel appeared through the door that led to the sewers, carrying a grocery sack that must have been the ice cream Cordelia asked him to get. “Baby and ice cream - fork them both over now.”

Gunn handed the sleeping baby over to her, while Angel sheepishly offered her the sack. Tara almost felt bad for him, the way he was giving her his best hangdog look. Tara took the ice cream from him, since Cordelia had her hands full of Connor.

“Tara, are you here for the book Giles needs?” Wesley asked.

“Y-yeah I saw you s-set it aside for m-me,” Tara said. “I don’t have t-to take it back right away though, s-so I think, um…” She hesitated, not wanting to presume on Cordelia’s behalf.

“We’re going to pig out on ice cream and baby snuggles in Angel’s room because you guys ditched me,” Cordelia informed them, though the bite of her words was lessened by the way she was wiggling her nose at Connor, who was slowly waking up. “Are there spoons in the bag?”

“Yeah,” Angel replied apprehensively. “Cordy -”

“I don’t want to hear it, Angel,” Cordelia said softly.

Angel’s shoulders slumped. Now Tara really did feel bad for him. He and Cordelia were pretty much on the same level when it came to stubborn willfulness. In that way they were both perfect and completely detrimental for each other.

As Cordelia climbed the stairs slowly and carefully, her dream probably still fresh in her mind, she glanced back at Tara. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Tara smiled back at her. Truthfully she didn’t, but it was still nice to be asked. Better late than never, she supposed. “No, of course not. It’ll be nice to get away on my own for a while.”

Cordelia led the way back into Angel’s room. It was cosy enough, if a bit sparse. Tara noticed that several of Cordelia’s knickknacks had made their way onto the dresser and bedside table, as well as several other places. She seemed pretty well at ease, moving around the room and checking Connor to make sure he didn’t need a change or anything. Tara sat on the edge of the bed and placed the bag with the ice cream beside her, not really sure what she ought to be doing.

“Ugh, having so many people around all the time must drive you nuts. Even when I was a Scooby it was like they were all so codependent on each other I could barely see Xander without at least one of the others being there. I don’t blame you for wanting to get away,” Cordelia said.

Tara raised her eyebrows. “It doesn’t seem like it’s all that different here.”

Cordelia settled on Angel’s bed, plumping up pillows to support her back as she sat against the headboard. She had unwrapped Connor from his going-out clothes and now she put him on his stomach on the bed so he could work on strengthening his muscles. “It’s not, really. The only time I get any peace is when I go home, and even then there’s Dennis, though he’s pretty good about leaving me alone when I want him to. Angel, on the other hand, has absolutely no qualms about calling me up at three in the morning to help him hunt down one ravaging beast or another.”

Tara scooted along the bed, careful not to disturb Connor, until she was sitting up next to Cordelia. Connor watched her movements as she passed, his nearsighted baby eyes probably only just able to see her when she scooched by. “Would it be easier on you if you lived in the hotel like Fred and Lorne do?”

“I think Gunn’s here full time too now,” Cordelia said. “Wes and I are the only ones holding out - Wes because he needs his space and me because of Dennis. Would it be easier? Probably. But there’s no way I could abandon Dennis after everything he’s done for me and how close we’ve become.” She bit her lip, then laughed self-consciously. “One of my closest friends is a ghost, how lame am I?”

“Not at all,” Tara assured her. “Dennis is very lucky to have a friend who cares so much for him.”

Cordelia ran a soothing hand down Connor’s back, then picked him up and held him close to her chest. Dennis isn’t the only lucky one, Tara thought. There wasn’t a single member of the Scoobies or the Fang Gang who hadn’t been affected by Cordelia’s presence in their lives. “Can you grab the ice cream?”

Tara snagged it from where she had left it at the end of the bed and unpacked two pints of what was presumably Cordelia’s favourite flavour. Cookie dough fudge mint chip sounded a little too rich for Tara to eat on a regular basis, but just once wouldn’t hurt. She handed one of the cartons and a spoon to Cordelia, who expertly juggled it and Connor into a workable position. After two months she had become a pro at babycare; she made it look so easy. Ever since they had found out about him, Willow and Tara had begun talking tentatively about what-ifs but things had been so shaky recently that Tara did not want to commit to even the possibility of that depth of commitment. Still, it looked so….wonderful.

“I think I might know a spell that can help,” Tara said.

Cordelia glanced over at her, a spoonful of ice cream halfway to her mouth. “Help what?”

Tara blushed, embarrassed. “S-sorry I m-meant help with Dennis. If - er, that is if he needs help, which he might not. I d-don’t really know him a-all that well.” She busied herself with a large spoonful of her own ice cream.

Cordelia sucked on her spoon thoughtfully. “I’d love to do something nice for him after everything he’s done for me,” she said after a moment. “What do you have in mind?”

“I was th-thinking that we could release him from your apartment. Usually when you release a ghost from the place they’re tied to, it’s because you’re exorcising them, but in Dennis’ case if we bound him to something else right away we could keep his soul on Earth but he’d have more freedom. You’d be able to bring him here to the Hyperion,” Tara explained.

“And… what, like, bind him to the lobby or something? Or would he be able to go all over the hotel?” Cordelia asked.

“You could do that,” Tara agreed slowly. “Or you could leave him bound to whatever object you chose. That way, he’d have more mobility. Theoretically, since he can manipulate objects pretty well, you’ve said, he could even have freedom independent of other people, though he’d have to be careful. Depending on what you choose to bind him to, people might not react well to seeing a mason jar floating around downtown all by itself.”

It was meant to be a joke, but Cordelia frowned thoughtfully. “I’d have to talk it over with Dennis, but I have a feeling he’ll say yes regardless of the risks.”

Tara cocked her head, puzzled. “B-but you don’t seem t-too happy.”

“What if something goes wrong during the transfer?” Cordelia said. “Are you one hundred percent sure this will work?”

Tara considered. “At this point I would say I’m eighty-five percent sure. Once I talk to Jonathan and Willow, and probably Giles as well, I’ll know for certain.”

 

“And even if it does work,” Cordelia continued, “whatever object we choose, it’s not going to be indestructible. Break the object, and...what? Where does Dennis go? Will he be forced to move on? Could he be forced to leave one day and I would never know it? When Doyle died, he barely left any possessions behind and then, well….our old offices got blown up. What little we had of Doyle was destroyed. The Hyperion isn’t exactly the safest place either, even with the protection spells you guys did. Sure, there’d be more places to hide something of value in case someone is able to break through, but I don’t know if I can willingly put my friend in danger. My apartment may be boring after the last fifty years but at least it’s safe.”

Tara nodded quickly. “Of course, I understand. It just occurred to me to mention it.”

Cordelia smiled reassuringly at her. “I’m glad you did. Of course I’ll tell Dennis about it once you talk to the others to make sure it’s a viable possibility. I just worry he’s going to say yes without thinking through everything.”

“Because you’ve never rushed into a decision heedless of the risk to yourself,” Tara teased gently, hoping she didn’t overstep any boundaries.

“Of course not,” Cordelia said loftily. “Who do you think I am - Angel?”

“For all I know his bad habits could have worn off on you,” Tara said with faux innocence.

Connor shifted in Cordelia’s arms and began whimpering. “Oh, darn,” Cordelia muttered. “He needs his bottle and Angel being the idiot that he is refuses to bring a refrigerator or microwave up here.” She thumped her head against the headboard irritably. “I don’t want to be around them. I’m still so angry that they just up and ditched me.”

Tara had just opened her mouth to offer to do it for her if Cordelia told her want to do when there was a knock on the door and Angel’s voice drifted in. “Cordy? Can you open up for a minute? Connor needs his bottle.”

Cordelia passed the fussy baby over to Tara, who took him awkwardly. She opened the door as little as possible and stuck her hand out. “Bottle.”

Angel handed it to her and when Cordelia made to close the door on his face, he quickly stopped it with his palm. “Cordy….”

“Go away, Angel,” Cordelia said firmly. “We can take care of this.”

“Can we talk? Later, I mean,” Angel asked. Tara suddenly felt like an intruder on a very private moment.

“What’s there to talk about?” Cordelia hissed. “You guys have been treating me like I’m made out of glass ever since my birthday, and I’m sick of it.”

“You were tired, and we didn’t want to disturb you,” Angel protested softly. Apparently the “later” part of their conversation wasn’t going to happen; Tara wondered if she could subtly go take the bottle from Cordelia’s hand so she would have something to distract herself with while they talked.

“Well what about what I want?” Cordelia demanded, just as quietly. They must’ve gotten used to arguing in low voices near Connor. “I want for you guys to ask me what I want instead of just assuming you know what’s best. I want things to go back to normal, or as normal as they ever are around here.”

“Cordelia, how can you say that when you’re -” He stopped suddenly, then lowered his voice enough that Tara almost didn’t hear him over Connor’s escalating crying. “When you’re dying?”

Cordelia said something sharp that Tara did not catch and then shut the door. She handed the warm bottle to Tara before fishing a compact out of one of the drawers in the nightstand and checking on her makeup.

Tara didn’t know what to say. Cordelia was dying? Was it the visions? Should she pretend she had not overheard Angel say that? Cordelia would probably prefer her not to fuss or say anything to the Scoobies, but how could she ignore this? Her friends were worried for her; more worried for her safety than she herself was, it seemed.

When Cordelia snapped her compact shut again, Tara turned away hurriedly knowing full well that she had been caught staring. “How’s he doing?” Cordy asked, coming around the bed to peer at Connor.

“F-f-f-fine,” Tara stuttered. Her thoughts were in turmoil. Leave it to Cordelia Chase to be so calm about her own impending death; she would go down with as much dignity and grace and - knowing her - fight as she could. “C-Cordy….”

“How’s Sunnydale these days? I feel like we haven’t been there in ages since you guys keep coming here because of Connor. How’s life on the Hellmouth?”

Denial it was, then. “D-do you remember Amy Madison?”

“Girl who nearly ruined my chance of becoming a cheerleader in Junior Year? Uh, yeah totally.”

Tara raised her eyebrows.

“What?” Cordelia asked. “Oh, right… also turned herself into a rat and no one could undo it and she’s being living in a cage ever since. Of course I remember all that. It was super creepy. I mean can you imagine being a rat?” She went to the changing table next to Connor’s crib and got a burping cloth to lay on Tara’s shoulder.

“She’s not anymore,” Tara said.

“Not a rat?” Cordelia said.

Tara shook her head. “J-Jonathan was actually the one who did it b-but it was Willow’s spell.”

Cordelia looked at her with guarded eyes: she knew where this was heading. “How’s Willow doing with the magic addiction these days?”

“Fine,” Tara said automatically, but Cordelia wasn’t fooled. She raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “Some days are easier than others,” Tara amended. “Amy being around has made things a lot more difficult. Sh-she’s a bad influence on Willow.”

Cordelia nodded understandingly. “How are you holding up?”

Tara looked at her, surprised. It wasn’t something many people thought to ask. They always made sure Willow was doing okay and told Tara how brave she was to help her girlfriend through such a tough time, but not many people thought to ask about the toll it took on her. The worry, the fear, the constant vigilance. “I’m okay,” Tara said.

“Alright,” Cordelia said easily enough. She didn’t believe Tara, that was pretty obvious, but she wasn’t going to press further. If Tara wanted to open up to her, she would listen; if Tara wanted to shut down her emotions and pretend they did not exist, Cordelia would go along with that too because it was what she would want from her friends in return.

Connor finished his bottle. Tara shifted him to her shoulder so that she could burp him as Cordelia took the empty bottle away and set it on Angel’s dresser. Tara used the momentary distraction to say quietly, “Some days are more okay than others. Some days I’m not sure if it’s worth it.” She looked shyly at Cordelia. “I feel so selfish to say that, but…”

Cordelia shook her head. “It’s not selfish. Believe me, I know from selfish. You have to take care of yourself just as much as you think you have to take care of Willow. And Willow needs to learn to take care of herself. It’s selfish of her to rely on you too much. And that goes for the rest of those ingrates, too. They can suck a person dry and never even realise. Don’t let them take you for granted.”

Tara nodded. “It’s nice to get away once in a while, on my own.”

Cordelia jabbed a finger at her suddenly, struck with an idea. “Spa day,” she said as Connor burped loudly.

Tara shifted a gasless Connor back into a cradled position in her arms and tossed the soiled cloth to Cordelia. “Huh?”

“Any time you need to get away, as long as you can borrow a car or I dunno… witch yourself over here somehow, do it. And then you and me and Fred can go to my place and do a spa day with Dennis. He gives the best foot massages.”

“Sure, okay,” Tara said, smiling. It was a nice thought but fairly impractical. Movie nights were more sporadic nowadays, since the constant travel between Sunnydale and Los Angeles was wearing everyone down, but they still occurred with enough frequency to make it feel strange for Tara to just drop everything to drive to L.A. on her own.

“I’m serious,” Cordelia said firmly. “Promise me you’ll do it. It’s not just for you, you know. Fred and I like to pretend we’re ordinary girls every once in a while - ghost masseur notwithstanding. For a few hours we can be the girl who didn’t spend five years in a hell dimension, the girl who isn’t dying, and the girl whose significant other isn’t addicted to magic and making her life a living hell. Right?”

“She’s not making it a living hell,” Tara protested. “It’s just a little stressful is all.”

Cordelia gave her a Look. Tara shivered - and again felt a surge of sympathy for Angel. He was so doomed it wasn’t even funny.

“Okay,” Tara agreed. “Three ordinary girls doing a home spa day. I’ll call before heading over to make sure you guys aren’t neck-deep in demon entrails or something.”

“Otherwise known as any day Gunn tries to cook,” Cordelia joked. She flashed Tara her most brilliant smile - the one that sadly Tara hadn’t seen much of lately.

Tara laughed, then shifted, her leg brushing against something cold on the bed. “Oh crap,” she muttered realising it was her carton of half-melted ice cream. The condensation was soaking into the sheets. She looked up guiltily at Cordelia, who just waved a hand dismissively. “He’ll get over it,” she said, plopping down on the bed next to Tara and picking up her own carton. “This one time I got peanut butter in his sheets and you’d think I’d committed an unforgivable sin the way he carried on about it.”

Tara raised her eyebrows, focusing on Connor so that Cordelia would not see. Exactly how much time did Cordelia spend in Angel’s bed anyway? The Scoobies were pretty sure Cordelia didn’t know how Angel felt about her, or if she did then she was holding him at arm’s length because of Angelus. “I guess peanut butter is a little messier than water,” Tara allowed.

“And a lot less messier than demon gore, which let me tell you, he tracked into my apartment any number of times when we were between offices.”

Tara wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

“You can put him down for a while, if you want,” Cordelia said, indicating Connor. “On the bed or in his crib, whichever.”

“Oh, uh… okay.” She laid him down on the bed the way Cordelia had earlier. Connor’s eyes were already drifting shut again. Once her hands were free, Tara picked up her ice cream again and scooped out a spoonful of half melted mess. It was still unbelievably delicious, if a bit messy.

“I wish Angel would stop being so old-fashioned and get a television for in here,” Cordelia complained. “I could really go for some trashy soaps right about now.”

Tara laughed. “I bet Angel wouldn’t mind if you brought one in for him. Or at least he wouldn’t be angry about it, though he might get that pouty look he does.”

Cordelia joined in her laughter. “Oh my god he would. But I’m not going to do it.” She held up her French-tipped fingernails. “These babies are in enough mortal danger from fighting the baddies, no way I’m going to risk them on moving a TV that I wouldn’t have that many opportunities to watch anyway.”

“Fair enough,” Tara acknowledged. They could find other ways of passing the afternoon.

By the time Tara left that evening, she felt lighter than she had in months. She and Cordelia had talked at length about all sorts of things; Tara had admitted to things that she barely even knew she felt. She even told Cordelia about the lie her family had told her for years. Cordelia took it all in stride and even divulged some of her own secrets. She wasn’t afraid of dying, not really, not if it happened for a purpose (such as to save someone’s life, like Doyle had done), but she was afraid to leave Angel. It always came down to Angel.

Tara just hoped Cordelia realised it before it was too late.


	13. Anya's Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pairings: Anya/Xander, Cordelia/Angel (implied one-sided....OR IS IT?), Spike/Buffy implied  
> This chapter's rating: Teen  
> Warnings: Tiny tiny mention of the events of "Billy"

“I, Anya, vow to marry you, Xander, because I love you and always will. Before I met you, I had seen what love can do to people and I was like… ‘No, thanks.’ I thought that was what love had to be, that it inevitably ended with one person hurting the other. Now I know better. Because I know you, and I know me. And you know me. You make me feel safe and warm, and I see now what love really is, Xander. Love is us.”

I look at him. It’s his turn to say his vows now, but he just licks his lips nervously. I feel a stab of fear that he is going to turn around and walk away, even now. It’s not too late, he can still do that if he really thinks….

“I, Xander, vow to love you always. Through the bad times and the good. I vow to make sure the good times far outweigh the bad,” he says softly. There are tears in his eyes, I notice. “I vow to never hurt you or raise a hand against you. I vow to communicate and trust you to always have my back, and I vow to always have yours. I love you, Anya, and nothing will ever change that. I promise.”

Willow hands Xander the ring that he slips onto my finger, and Buffy presses the ring meant for Xander into my hand when I motion for it. Behind me I feel Giles’ stolid presence as the person who is going to “give me away” to Xander - an old-fashioned but somehow comforting notion.

The minister says a few words, but I can barely concentrate. I want him to get to the part where we kiss and are married. Before Xander has a chance to still break away. This wedding that almost never happened - there is still a possibility that it won’t. Until the minister says those words -

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss to seal this bond between yourselves in front of all your family and friends.”

There is applause as Xander pulls me towards him and kisses me softly. When we break away, I turn and there is Giles, pulling me into a tight hug and congratulating me and then he is moving away to offer Xander a manly handshake and now I am hugging Buffy and then Tara and Dawnie and Willow. There are congratulations and tears all around. I feel like my face will split from how hard I am grinning. The minister clears his throat and I’m not really sure why until Xander takes my hand and pulls me down the aisle, the rest of the wedding party following behind.

“Congratulations to the bride and groom,” the minister says as we exit out into the lobby. “They are going to take a few minutes to freshen up, and in the meantime if you could adjourn to the lobby, we are going….” The door shuts and I cannot hear him anymore, but I know what he is saying: the room needs to be cleared out so the caterers can set up for the reception.

“I think we’re supposed to stay behind and help with the evacuation,” Buffy says, glancing over her shoulder at the closed doors. “No offense, Xander, but getting your family to do anything is like herding cats.”

“That isn’t even close to the most offensive thing someone has ever said about my family,” Xander assures her with a strained smile. He’s still holding my hand in a tight grip. “We’re going to run before we get roped into the meet-and-greet early.”

“Do you need any help?” Tara asks.

“I think we’ll be fine,” Xander says, looking to me for confirmation.

“We will,” I assure him.

He leads me to the room where I had gotten ready earlier. There isn’t much we really need to do to “get ready” for the reception, but this is supposed to be a moment for the both of us to relax and unwind. Someone had thought ahead and left a bottle of champagne in the room, which Xander uncorks and pours into two glasses.

“We’re married,” I say, marvelling in how the words sound in my mouth. “You are my husband.”

“And you are my wife,” Xander agrees. His smile turns wry. “Here’s hoping this isn’t the biggest mistake of our lives.”

He reaches out to tap my glass with his, but I pull away sharply. “I’m not drinking to that,” I say.

Xander shakes his head as if to dislodge the thoughts. “Right, right. Happy thoughts only. Here’s to our long and happy life together,” he says instead. This time I follow through with the cheers.

I don’t want to think about how we almost didn’t make it to this moment. How Xander nearly walked out on me because he doesn’t want to hurt me. How I had to remind him that if he walked away right now he would be hurting me. We could make it through this together, and yes our lives might not turn out the way we hope, but we are stronger together.

The stupid demon showing up didn’t help matters. Trying to convince Xander of some fake future where we hated each other and Buffy was dead. What he didn’t realise was that Xander had opened up to me a two weeks ago about his fears for our future. We were working through and communicating with each other; until that point we had been ignoring our doubts in the hopes that they would just sort of go away. I have no idea what inspired the change, and Xander won’t tell me, but I am glad for it. Sort of. It was hard to listen to Xander’s list of petty grievances and insecurities. We fought harder and longer that night than we ever had before.

And at the end of it, I think I loved him more than I ever had before.

“What are you thinking about?” Xander asks softly, perhaps a little apprehensively. He reaches out to brush a piece of hair that has fallen into my eyes.

“How much I love and adore you,” I tell him truthfully.

He blinks back tears as he leans down to kiss me properly. I want to have sex with him right here in this room, but there are people waiting for us, and I guess that is somehow inappropriate. Besides, my dress is too nice to get dirty and there will be plenty of time for us to have sex later after the reception.

He sighs, pulling away. “I guess we should go back out there.”

We take a moment to make sure we are presentable; I fix my hair and he straightens his tuxedo. He helps me pin my dress so that the train doesn’t drag everywhere. I redo his bowtie for him, which had gotten loose at some point. Within minutes we are ready to go back out there and face the crowd.

The moment we enter the lobby, we are besieged by people, but Andrew, as our “official” cameraman, gets them all to back off as he films our “grand re-entrance.” “The bride is positively radiant in her gown, and the groom has the look like he’s the luckiest guy in the world - which he definitely is,” Andrew narrates. “Is there anything you would like to say to your future selves when you sit down to watch this later?”

“I’d like to say ‘sorry for what I’m about to do to you, future Xander’s stomach,’” Xander says.

“I don’t think there’s any point in saying anything,” I add. “We’ve probably gotten bored at this point and are having sex.”

Andrew turns the camera towards himself and glares at us through time. “Future!Xander and future!Anya, stop having sex right now. I’m going to a lot of trouble making sure everyone says nice things to you on your happy day, so the least you can do is pay attention. Except for that thing that Uncle Rory said. You can just ignore that.”

Xander frowns. “What did Uncle Rory say?”

“Oh, and look over here,” Andrew exclaims, wandering over to the large stack of presents. “By now you probably already know what’s in all of these, but look at how pretty they are.”

With Andrew no longer acting as a buffer, we are once more surrounded by people who want to hug and kiss us and wish us well as a married couple. After a few minutes the doors to the reception hall are opened and people begin filing in to take their seats. We’re all hungry and ready for dinner to start. I can’t wait to dig into my first course - some fancy salad that I can’t even remember the name of - but before I can take a bite we are inundated with more relatives and friends who want to speak to us. They congratulate us, give us advice, tell jokes… I grit my teeth because I am supposed to be polite to our so-called “loved ones” but really all I want to do is shove a large forkful of kale and beets into my mouth. I let Xander do most of the talking.

Before we get the chance to take more than a few bites, we’re being called up to take our first dance as husband and wife. The way he holds me close as we dance while everyone watches us - I’m not sure I’ve ever been this happy.

The song ends and we sit back down, only to have even more people come talk to us. I don’t know where they keep coming from. Did we really invite this many guests? Why would we do that? I mean, I like that it means more attention on me when I look so beautiful, but I have had my fill of their attention now and would like to eat in peace.

Xander squeezes my hand under the table and I suddenly don’t mind.

The remains of the first course are taken away and replaced with the entree. Expectations be damned - I eat my steak as quickly as I can without being completely rude and leave Xander to coo over baby Connor dressed in his “wee baby tuxedo.” I am only halfway finished when I hear a throat being cleared beside me and look up to see Giles standing a foot away, looking a little awkward.

“Hello,” I say. “Are you here to wish us congratulations and may we ever be blessed et cetera?”

“Er, yes, I suppose so,” he says, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket and giving his glasses a quick wipe. “But also I thought, maybe…. well, traditionally the bride has a dance with her father, but since we’re about a thousand years past that being a viable option, I supposed maybe… Anya, may I have this dance?”

I am touched. “Of course.” I stand up, offering him my hand. Xander stands up as well and leads his mother out onto the dancefloor. To the left of the floor, Lorne takes a microphone from the DJ; we had asked him to sing a few songs throughout the reception, which he had gladly agreed to do.

“I expect you’re tired of hearing congratulations by now,” Giles says.

“A little,” I admit. “But it means a lot more coming from you.”

His only response is to pull me closer, but that’s okay. A lot of what Giles says is in his actions rather than his words. I lean my head against his chest and watch Xander dancing with his mother.

“Did Xander say anything to you about a week ago?” I ask suddenly. “About the wedding I mean? That he was starting to....have doubts?”

Giles clears his throat; I can feel the vibrations against my ear. “Not to me, no.”

I lift my head and crane my neck to look up at him. “But he did say something to someone? And you know about it?”

“I heard about it, yes….” Seeing the worry on my face, he quickly adds, “But I don’t think anyone knows about it beyond myself, Xander, and the person in question.”

“But who?” I demand. “Who does Xander trust more than me?”

“I don’t think it’s a matter of trust, Anya. It’s a matter of someone who is in a similar situation: a man who comes from a dysfunctional family life and is entering into a serious, committed relationship.”

I scan the room for our friends, trying to figure out who he means, but no one comes to mind. A dysfunctional family is the least of Angel’s worries (not to mention 200 years dead), and Spike is currently off-again with Buffy to the point that he brought a date with him.

Giles sighs, his breath ruffling my hair. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“No,” I tell him honestly. He should know that about me by now.

“Very well,” Giles says stiffly. “It was Wesley, but you did not hear this from me.”

“Wesley,” I repeat, shocked. Wesley’s relationship with Fred and Gunn isn’t really a secret but they do try to keep quiet about it. That wasn’t the surprising part. That Wesley comes from a dysfunctional family like Xander’s, well that was definitely not something I would have expected.

“I only know about Xander and Wesley’s chat because Wesley told me about it. I knew his father when I was a Watcher, and talking to Xander stirred up some feelings that Wesley did not want to burden his lovers with. Though of course I pointed out that was exactly what Xander was afraid of doing, so I think that pushed Wesley into talking with Fred and Gunn but I do not know for sure.”

I am only half listening; I can just see Wesley in my line of vision. He is sitting with the other members of Angel Investigations as they all enjoy their free (for them) meal. He is laughing at something Fred is saying. As soon as the song ends, I pull Giles in for another hug and thank him, for more than just the dance. Then I march straight over to Wesley and hold out my hand to him.

“You are going to dance with me,” I tell him.

I can see the surprise on all of their faces - I may be a little oblivious at times, but I’m not blind. They are bewildered and uncertain, but Wesley stands up and takes my hand. “I would be honoured,” he tells me gallantly.

“You have no idea what you’re in for,” Gunn tells me, but his expression is one of affection as he teases.

“We’re about to find out if those hours of practice were helpful,” Fred pipes up.

“Hush, both of you,” Cordelia chides. “Go on, Wesley. Show them just how much you learned.”

“Cordelia, may I have this dance?” Angel asks. Connor is asleep in his stroller. As Wesley leads me away, I see others start to get up as well. Buffy walks past the table, giving the stroller a wide berth; she is still uncomfortable around the not-so-evil-it-turns-out baby, but she has gotten more used to him in the last few weeks. Even I’ve come around to the idea of having a miniature human around, even if all it does is cry and eat. And poop.

“I take it Giles told you that Xander and I had a little talk a few weeks ago,” Wesley says wryly. The DJ is playing another slow song, which is good for us to be able to talk and dance at the same time. For all that he is a little awkward, Wesley knows the proper steps and technique to lead me through the dance.

“Yes,” I say. “Why you? Why did he….” I don’t know how to ask my questions without sounding rude.

Wesley sighs. “I suppose someone must have told him about my father. It must have been Giles, though I do not know how it would come up in a conversation. I’m not sure I want to know. My father is...not exactly easy to get along with. Xander wanted to know how I was not scared to hurt the people I love more than anything else in the world.”

“What did you tell him?” I prompt.

“The truth,” he answers. “I am terrified every day of becoming like him. I have hurt Fred once already and if I ever did it again…. it would kill me. That is, if Charles didn’t kill me first. But they both love me and I love them, and I have to trust that it will be enough to stop me from going down a road I don’t want to. I don’t want to be like my father, so I won’t. And Fred and Gunn will help me by being honest with me and telling me when I’m beginning to stray.”

I nod. That was very similar to the conclusion Xander and I had come to. We both had dark places inside of us that had the potential of overwhelming us, but together we could try to avoid those places.

“It’s perhaps idealistic of us - it may end up being unavoidable. But do I give up my current happiness - and theirs - for the possibility of a bad ending?” Wesley shakes his head. “I decided I couldn’t do that. And I think Xander feels the same way. Or else we wouldn’t be here right now.”

I smile at him. “Thank you.”

He ducks his head and looks away. “It was nothing.”

I look around and spot Xander dancing with Willow not far away, but his gaze is fixed on us. I smile at him, and he smiles back, though it’s a bit shaky.

After this song ends, I am ready to go back to my table and finish eating, but another person asks me to dance, and then another. The tempo picks up, bringing more people onto the floor. Just when I think I can get away, someone else is waiting to pounce on the opportunity to whisk me back out there. If I hadn’t promised Xander I would be on my best behaviour, I would have said something rude ages ago and would be allowed to eat my food in peace. I look over to him now, and he is also trapped in a dance. He catches my eye, smiles at me - I can’t help but grin back even though my feet are beginning to hurt.

“Are you a champion or aren’t you?” I overhear Cordelia say to Angel at one point. “There is a woman in clear distress five feet from you and you do nothing to help her?”

“What am I supposed to do?” Angel demands. “Just take her away and stand guard over her all night?”

“Or just for fifteen minutes - as long as you help her I don’t care for how long,” Cordelia says.

I look around. There’s someone in distress nearby? Will this get me out of dancing with Uncle Rory right now? His sweaty palms are starting to make me lose my appetite.

A broad hand taps Uncle Rory’s shoulder - it’s Angel, smiling benignly. “Mind if I cut in?” he asks blandly.

Uncle Rory grumbles but gives way. Instead of continuing the dance, however, Angel leads me back to my seat. “Sit down,” he tells me. “Eat, relax. I’ll make sure no one bothers you for the next fifteen minutes.”

“Bless you, man,” Xander says, coming up behind Angel and clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re a god among mortals. I thought we’d never escape.” He collapses into his own seat and shoves a large bite of cold steak into his mouth.

“My hero,” Cordelia confirms, brushing past Angel on her way back to her own seat. Once there she picks up baby Connor from his stroller and cradles him in her arms. Angel watches her actions, a strange look on his face.

Xander sees the same thing I do. “Angel, man…. How long are you going to just sit around and not say anything. She deserves her happiness too.”

“Happiness is what she has right now without me saying anything,” Angel says.

“Are you sure about that?” Xander asks. “Look, maybe I’m not the best person to give relationship advice, but someone said to me recently that if you don’t take any chances because of what might happen, you’ll miss out on the beauty of what definitely will happen. Or something like that. He said it a little more eloquently.”

Angel shakes his head sadly. “I’m not exactly cut out for happiness. You know that better than most people. And so does Cordelia.”

Xander shrugs, hesitant. “I know. Believe me, I know. And I definitely wouldn’t say anything if I thought you could hurt Cordelia in any way. But it seems to me that if I was constantly anxious about what could happen if I felt a moment of pure happiness, I would never feel pure happiness. There would always be that worry in the back of my head.”

“That may be true,” Angel allows. “But I’m not willing to take the risk. Not with Cordy.”

“Then maybe it’s time for you to stop stringing her along,” Xander says, suddenly harsh. “Let her go while she still has a chance.”

Angel scowls at him. “At least you didn’t say ‘kyrumption,’” he grumbles before stalking off to go sit with Cordelia.

“Come back here,” I yell after him. “You were supposed to guard us for fifteen minutes and that was only five.”

“What the hell is ‘kyrumption?’” Xander asks.

“It’s a demon word from Pylea to describe two warriors meet on the battlefield and recognise their destiny together,” I tell him, leaning into him as best as I can while staying in my own seat. “Like us. Well, sort of. High school counts as a sort of battlefield, right?”

Xander snorts. “Definitely.”

There is more food, more dancing, more congratulations. Everything is perfect, even with all the mishaps (Xander does not like to think about what his father did to that rug, but thankfully it wasn’t terribly expensive to replace). And Andrew catches it all on film for us to relive again and again over the years.

Some weeks later, I find the DVD he burned for us and together we watch our wedding for the first time. He was very thorough, asking every single guest to say something for the bride and groom. Most people offer advice or an anecdote or a joke. But Wesley’s turn is simple and eloquent and perfect.

_Andrew’s disembodied voice asks, “Hey Wesley! Do you have any wisdom for the newlyweds?”_

_Wesley shakes his head. “No, but here is a toast,” he says, raising his glass. “To love. To happiness. To you.” He takes a drink._

To us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to post on Thursday, sorry guys. Here it is.


	14. Fred's Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTICE: first of all hello I have not abandoned this fic - I am currently sans internet at home until next Thursday so I am hunkered down at my local library listening to whiny children as I try to get work done....
> 
> BUT more importantly I super hecked up with this chapter. There are MAJOR plot developments at the end.... but this chapter is also mostly porn. So I went ahead and put *** before the porn starts and after it ends so that those of you who are not inclined to read smut can skip it. I recommend using ctrl+f and searching for the asterisks.
> 
> And the usual notes:  
> This chapter's pairings: Cordelia/Angel, Fred/Wesley/Gunn  
> This chapter's rating: Explicit  
> Warnings: OT3 smut

They didn’t know she was there.

That was the only reason Fred could fathom that she saw what she did. Angel and Cordelia were both such private people; if they had known Fred happened to be within earshot, they never would have said the things they did. Wesley would have said she shouldn’t have been sneaking around and eavesdropping in the first place, but once she realised what was going on, Fred couldn’t not listen.

It was late at night after Anya and Xander’s wedding. Charles and Wesley headed immediately upstairs to the bedroom they shared with Fred, while Lorne trailed behind to put Connor into his crib before heading to his own room. Fred made a short detour to the kitchen for some filtered water because her head was still somewhat spinny from the amount of wine and champagne she had consumed. By the time she made it back to the lobby, Angel was leaning on the front desk, watching Cordelia who had noticed there was a voicemail on the work line. She wanted to listen to it before Angel drove her home, just in case it was something urgent that had to be taken care of right away.

Fred paused, ducking out of sight so that she could watch Angel watching Cordelia. She had her head bent over her notebook as she scribbled down the important information. She didn’t see the adoring smile that lingered on Angel’s lips, but Fred did. Fred hugged her glass of water to her chest and grinned at them from where they could not see her.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Cordelia said after a minute or so, coming around the front of the counter to stand next to Angel. He had dropped the dopey puppy expression as soon as she looked at him, but something must have lingered in his gaze because Cordelia narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What? Is my makeup all smeary?”

“Nothing,” Angel assured her quickly. “I was just thinking about….”

“If you say the word ‘manpire’ again, I will stake you,” Cordelia warned, smiling.

Angel laughed softly. “No. Well, sort of. I was just thinking about something Xander said to me this evening.”

Fred closed her eyes, frustrated with Angel’s utter lack of common sense. If he was about to do what Fred hoped he would - finally after all these months - it was not a good idea to bring up Cordelia’s ex in the middle of the conversation.

Cordelia apparently felt the same way. She raised her eyebrows. “If you’re going to start taking advice from Xander, I may need to rethink this whole ‘champion’ thing.”

“He said that you deserve happiness.”

Cordelia laughed softly. “Okay, maybe he’s not all that wrong, but I can’t believe it took him saying it for you to realise.”

“No, that’s not what - I’m doing this all wrong. Cordelia, are you happy?” Angel asked, trying to curb his frustration.

In her hiding spot, Fred sighed. Angel was going to screw this all up if he wasn’t careful.

“Of course I’m happy,” Cordelia said. She walked forward to lay a reassuring hand on Angel’s arm. “You and Connor - and the rest of the gang - you make me happier than I have ever been in my entire life.”

“But… but you could be happier?” Angel pressed.

Cordelia made a soft noise of derision, pulling her hand away from Angel to unconsciously play with the brand new pendant around her neck. “Well, sure. Not dying would make me incredibly happy. Being a permanent part of Connor’s life, watching him grow up.” She smiled sadly. “I wish I could have those things.”

Angel watched her sadly, not sure what to do with himself. _Hug her, you idiot_ , Fred screamed silently at him.

“But hey,” Cordelia continued with forced cheer, “that doesn’t mean I’m not going to enjoy what time I have left, right?” Even from so far away, Fred could see she was blinking back tears.

Angel reached up to caress her face. “We’ll find a way to fix it. I don’t know how yet, but we will. I need you here with me, Cordy. I…. I can’t do this without you. Any of it - Angel Investigations was your brainchild. We wouldn’t be where we are today if it weren’t for you. And you’re more of a mother to Connor than anyone else could have been.”

Cordelia sniffled, and Angel finally stepped forward to envelope her in his arms. Fred thanked every deity she could think of for the great acoustics in the lobby when she overheard him whisper in Cordelia’s ear, “I love you.”

Cordelia laughed quietly. “Maybe you shouldn’t have driven us back to L.A.if you’re still this sappy. I love you too, big guy.”

Angel hugged her tighter, running a hand through her hair. “No, I… Cordy, I don’t know when it happened or how, but somewhere along the way I realised just how much you mean to me. You are funny and brave and amazing and beautiful. You’re not like anyone else in this world. You’re not like a mother to Connor - you are his mother, and I couldn’t have hoped for a better one. I trust you more than anyone else in my life right now, and thanks to you that’s quite a few people. I’m…. I….” He floundered, at a loss as to how to keep going. Cordelia pulled away slightly so that she could look him in the eye. “I love you,” he said at last, simple and heartfelt and true.

Fred clapped a hand over her mouth to keep herself from squealing out loud. After a declaration like that, how could Cordelia be anything but swept away in the moment?

Cordelia did not say anything at first. She stared at Angel, working through what he had just said, everything he had just admitted. But she did not pull away from him either. After a few seconds, she lifted herself up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips almost experimentally against Angel’s. He returned the kiss just as tentatively, gently, hesitantly as if afraid their connection would break if he moved too quickly. After a few seconds, the kiss deepened - from her place, Fred could not tell who made the first move, only that they were kissing harder, faster, passionater (well, no, that wasn’t a word but the sentiment was accurate). As she watched them, she could feel the sheer joy mixed with apprehension that radiated from their entwined bodies.

Cordelia broke away after a minute or two, breathing hard. Even Angel looked a little breathless - more so even than a typical vampire. Maybe it was just the dazed, glazed, overheated look he was giving Cordy. “Oh, this is bad,” Cordelia whispered, easing herself out of Angel’s embrace.

“Yeah,” Angel agreed quietly, running his hands through his hair, looking a little bit wild. “I know.”

“This is really, really bad,” Cordelia continued. “Damn it, why couldn’t Xander keep his stupid mouth shut?”

Fred frowned. That wasn’t the right response at all….

Cordelia took a few shaky steps over to the nearest couch and sat down heavily. Angel followed suit. She shifted so that she was facing him fully, a pained look on her face. “What are we going to do?”

“Do….do you feel the same way?” Angel asked hopefully.

“I don’t want to answer that without a stake ready just in case,” Cordelia said.

Angel frowned, puzzling out the implications of her words. A smile slowly dawned as he realised. “Cordelia…”

“Hold up there, buddy,” Cordelia said, laying a hand on his chest to keep him back. “I think we need to, you know, think things over. Not rush into anything.” She looked like she might have something more to say, but had become distracted by her own hand which was gently rubbing Angel’s chest as if of its own volition.

“Right, yes, definitely,” Angel agreed quickly, leaning back a bit out of her reach. “It’s late and it’s been an emotional day. We’ll sleep on it and see where things stand in the morning.” He glanced at the clock over Cordelia’s desk. “Or, later today I guess.”

“Good idea,” Cordelia said.

“Do you still want me to...to drive you home?” Angel asked, reaching a hand to brush a stray piece of hair out of Cordelia’s face. She leaned into his touch.

“No,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “I think I want to be close to Connor tonight, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Angel said immediately. “I’ll take another room and -”

“No,” Cordelia cut in. “We can share. I’m not trying to kick you out of your own bed. As long as you…. you know….”

“Don’t get too happy?” Angel supplied.

“Exactly.”

Angel stood up and reached down to help Cordelia to her feet. Together, they made their way upstairs, Angel pausing to turn off the lights, leaving Fred in near complete darkness. She knew the lobby well enough by now, and her time in Pylea had strengthened her night vision, so she had no trouble navigating to the stairs and climbing to her own bedroom where Charles and Wesley were still mostly dressed and dancing a slow dance in the limited empty space.

Fred giggled when she saw them. “What’re you two doing?”

“I was just tellin’ Wes how hot he looked out on the dancefloor tonight and that it was a shame we didn’t get to dance together,” Charles said. “You two looked amazing together though.”

Wesley broke away from Charles just enough to bring Fred into the dance with them. It was awkward and crowded, but Fred had never felt happier. “Where did you disappear to?” Wesley asked her.

“I went to get a glass of water and stumbled across Angel confessing his undying love to Cordelia,” Fred told them.

Charles and Wesley exchanged apprehensive looks. “Angel’s in love with Cordelia?” Charles asked.

“Duh!” Fred exclaimed. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”

“What did Cordelia say?” Wesley asked.

“She said they’d need to sleep on it, but they’re spending the night in the same room so I dunno how much sleeping is going to happen,” Fred said.

“No way Cordy would risk Angel’s soul for sex,” Charles said. “Right?”

Wesley shook his head. “No, she’s more cautious when it comes to Angelus than any of us.”

“But Angel had sex with Darla without losing his soul,” Fred argued.

“Angel wasn’t in love with Darla,” Wesley reminded her. “It wasn’t true happiness with her. It definitely would be with Cordelia.” Seeing the amused looks on his lovers’ faces, Wesley amended, “For Angel, I mean.”

“Maybe better sleep with a stake under the pillow, just in case,” Charles said.

“I don’t think it will come to that,” Wesley mused.

Fred rose on her tiptoes to plant a kiss first on Wesley’s lips and then on Charles’. “I have a gut feeling everything is going to turn out okay.”

********************

Charles laughed, pulling her close for a deeper kiss while Wesley shifted so that Fred’s body was trapped between theirs. “I certainly can’t argue with your gut,” Charles said against her lips. “It’s tiny and holds more food than is physically possible.”

“Hey,” Fred protested, breaking away and nearly smacking Wesley’s face with the back of her head. Charles and Wesley laughed softly, the way they always did when her unwieldy flailing caused damage in the bedroom - as long as it wasn’t permanent, they found it charming rather than dangerous. “I behaved myself very well tonight. I certainly wasn’t the one pigging out on those grilled chicken appetizers.”

Wesley’s hands skimmed over Fred’s bare shoulders and down her sides along the soft contours of her dress. “‘Pigging out?’” he repeated, false hurt in his voice. “I would hardly call what I did ‘pigging out,’ thank you. Especially considering much time a certain someone spent next to the chocolate fountain.”

Charles snorted. “Other than some demons of questionable variety, that chocolate fountain was the only other brown thing in the room,” he said. “Anya and Xander are good people but they need a little more variety in their friends.”

Wesley wrapped a hand around the back of Gunn’s smooth head and pulled him in for a kiss. “Funny,” he said, pulling away after a moment, “he doesn’t _taste_ like chocolate.”

“No?” Fred asked. “Lemme try.” She stretched as tall as she could (the dress she was wearing wasn’t quite conducive to jumping into his arms the way she normally would when she wanted to be on either man’s eye level) to nibble on Charles’ ear in the way she knew would drive him wild. “Hm, you’re right,” she said, releasing him. “I think we brought the wrong brown thing home.”

Wesley laughed, kissing along Charles’ neck as Charles growled playfully. “Keep it up and neither of y’all are getting my _brown thing_ tonight.”

Wesley tutted dramatically. “However shall we survive?” he asked Fred.

“I guess we’ll just have to get inventive,” she replied.

“Oh, now that I would like to see,” Charles said, stepping away and shucking his tuxedo jacket.

“Would you, now?” Wesley asked, disbelief in his tone. “My dear Charles, I doubt you would last longer than five minutes on the sidelines.”

“Don’t challenge me, English,” Charles warned. “You know what happened the last time you did.”

Fred groaned. She didn’t want to remember the details of that particular disaster. Lorne had moved his stuff to a room all the way on the other side of the hotel “for safety reasons” afterwards, and all three participants had suffered from severe embarrassment at Angel’s bewildered questions. “Stop posturin’ an’ get your ass back over here,” she said, her accent becoming thicker with her desire. “You can play voyeur some other time. I need you both tonight.” A small whine of desperation crept into her voice.

Charles kicked off his shoes and socks before rejoining them, while Wesley took a moment to help Fred unpin her hair as best as they could. She wasn’t even sure they’d retrieved all the pins but Wesley had grown impatient and was kissing her again with a fervent desire that made her forget all about it. She closed her eyes, reaching blindly for Charles, who had come up behind Wesley and was now helping the other man out of his own tuxedo jacket. He paused to catch her hand and press a kiss to the palm before guiding it to the buttons on Wesley’s shirt; she took the hint and began working the buttons loose from the top down as Charles started from the bottom up.

Wesley broke away from Fred’s mouth to run a trail of kisses from her earlobe to her shoulder as his hands reached around to unhook and unzip her dress. Her own hands reached the middle button at the same time Charles’ did, their fingers twining as they mock-fought for the right to undo it. Wesley chuckled against Fred’s shoulder, squirming as their hands brushed against his torso through his undershirt.

“Stop tickling Wes, Fred,” Charles chastised jokingly, abandoning the button to caress his hands down Wesley’s sides, sussing out the most sensitive spots. “Stop tickling him. You know how much he hates being tickled.” To counteract the teasing, Charles leaned over Wesley’s shoulder to plant a kiss on his cheek. Wesley craned his neck around, his face contorting as his lips sought Charles’. Fred finally finished off the last button and shoved the shirt aside to gain access to Wesley’s undershirt, which she untucked and shoved up unceremoniously, displaying his beautiful, scarred body. She ran her fingernails down Wesley’s chest with a barely-there touch that caused his knees to buckle, effectively breaking the men’s kiss.

“Oops,” she said wickedly.

Wesley recovered himself and straightened up to his full height. “I have no idea what I did to deserve two such ungrateful lovers,” he complained without any real fire. “After everything I do for you, this is how you repay me.”

Fred met Charles’ eyes over Wesley’s shoulder. “We are terrible,” she acknowledged. “Should we make it up to him?”

“Hmmmm,” Charles said, attempting to divest Wesley of his shirt but merely managing to tangle him up because he had forgotten about the cufflinks. “What did you have in mind?” He impatiently snatched the cufflinks away and shoved them into Wesley’s pants pocket, intentionally brushing against Wesley’s cock as he did so.

Fred took a step back, letting her dress fall as she did so. She stepped delicately out of the pool of silk and picked it reverently up off the floor; it had cost too much for her to treat it shoddily. Plus she knew the effect on her boys it had to see her walking around in just her naughties and high heels. Setting the dress aside on her desk chair, she propped one hand on her hip as she surveyed her lovers thoughtfully. “I bet he’d love a blow job,” she said matter-of-factly.

Wesley hummed appreciatively. “That does sound lovely.” He turned his head to nuzzle at Charles’ neck, careful not to apply teeth. Charles was generally pretty easy going and accommodating, but he shied away - sometimes violently - from excessive use of teeth in intimate settings. Wesley had learned that the hard way.

“Lay down on the bed,” Charles instructed, catching Fred’s eye and winking. She grinned back, understanding what he was going for.

Wesley straightened up and shucked his undershirt, socks, and shoes, while Charles took the opportunity to unbuckle his belt for him and push down his trousers. Fred shed her own shoes, her ankles sighing with relief to be flat and sturdy again. Last came the bra and panties, leaving her completely naked as she stepped forward to divest Charles of his pants and boxers in one swift move. He was still wearing his crisp white dress shirt, and the contrast against his skin took her breath away. She helped rid him of the shirt reluctantly; if it weren’t part of the tuxedo rental, she would insist on him leaving it on, at least for a little while.

Wesley lay down in the middle of the bed, the only one of the trio still wearing clothes at this point. He had a habit of leaving his boxers on until the very last, or at least until Fred and Charles were completely undressed. Fred wanted to ask him sometimes why he did that, but it seemed inconsiderate when she already knew he had multiple insecurities about his relationship with them.

Charles knelt on the bed by Wesley’s feet, easing the other man’s boxers down his legs and tossing them aside. Fred hopped up by Wesley’s side, running her hands over his body reverently and trailing kisses wherever she felt like it. She paused at his nipples to tease them, causing Wesley to moan softly - or maybe it was Charles going down on him that caused it. Either way, it was a magnificent sound that made Fred grin, glancing mischievously over at Charles, who waggled his eyebrows at her.

Fred moved her hands to Wesley’s shaggy hair, revelling in the feel of it running through her fingers. She kissed him deeply for a long moment, then, moving carefully so he would see what she was thinking, she threw one leg over his body to straddle him and eased herself up so that she was kneeling over his face. He grinned up at her.

“By all means,” he murmured, voice gruff and inviting.

She took off his glasses and set them on the nightstand, leaving him open and vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been with them on, then lowered herself carefully to his waiting mouth, using the headboard for support. His large hands wrapped around her buttocks to hold her in place as his tongue darted out to tease at her swollen labia. Fred quivered in his hold, trying to not buck into his face, but it was difficult. Wesley could do things with his mouth that she had never known were even possible. Apparently learning demonic languages had made his tongue rather….flexible.

And he always applied himself with such gusto. Neither partner was particularly surprised - “Wesley” and “enthusiasm” pretty much went hand-in-hand in every other aspect of his life, so why not this one? She rolled her hips as Wesley opened her up and dove right in, eating her out with abandon. Her legs trembled violently and she wasn’t sure how much longer they would support her, even with Wesley’s hands to help Holding onto the headboard wouldn’t assist much if her legs gave out, and she didn’t particularly feel like suffocating one of her lovers.

She felt more than heard the movement behind her (she wished she could see what Charles was doing because damn were her boys hot together) and felt Wesley’s mouth stutter as he whimpered slightly. Then there were lips on her shoulder and Fred realised Charles had left his task to come see what was going on over here. He snaked one arm around Fred to finger her where Wesley’s mouth had returned to its prior task, albeit hesitantly and without the same vigor.

“You better not be sittin’ on Wesley’s chest,” Fred admonished softly.

“He can take it,” Charles rejoined.

“I may be able to take it,” Wesley murmured into Fred, barely audible voice strained and tense, “but I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Sorry,” Charles said, sliding off to the side. He loved the sensation of a heavy weight on his chest and sometimes he forgot that Wesley hated it. It was all part of the learning process the three were constantly going through, figuring out what worked and what didn’t.

Fred eased off of him as well, giving him a moment to catch his breath. She climbed on Charles’ lap, subtly letting him know that his lapse was forgiven. She kissed him playfully, revelling in the lingering taste of Wes on his lips, as one hand reached between their bodies to stroke his neglected cock. A sensation of lips on her thigh moving from knee to hip told her that Wesley had recovered himself much quicker than he had in the past. Anything that made him feel trapped - such as sleeping in the middle or having his hands held down - sent him into instant panic mode, the same was Charles did when he felt teeth at his neck or Fred did when she woke up to find someone who had fallen asleep in the same bed had gone missing in the middle of the night. Their lives (their dangerous, terrifying, impossible lives) introduced fears and insecurities that were sometimes hard to shake off, but they were patient and understanding towards each other in ways no one else could be.

Charles broke his kiss with Fred to look down at Wesley, saying something silently with his eyes. Fred had yet to learn all of their codes, but this one she knew was meant to convey love and contrition. Wesley pushed himself upright so that he could kiss Charles tenderly, showing him that he was forgiven or that there was nothing to forgive. Wesley was working that tongue magic again while Fred continued to rub Charles in such a way to keep him on edge without pushing him too far. When Wesley broke their kiss, Charles was breathless himself. “Fuck me,” he whispered reverently.

“As you wish,” Wesley agreed placidly.

They moved more or less seamlessly into a viable position. Fred got off of Charles so that he could kneel upright on the bed, while Wesley reached over to grab a couple of condoms and the lube from the nightstand. The lube he gave to Fred to prep Charles with while the boys quickly rolled the condoms onto themselves. Fred worked slowly, teasingly, letting her fingers linger as she spread the lubrication and opened Charles up for Wesley. Wesley ran his hands through Fred’s hair as she worked, then to her nipples, which he flicked and rubbed. She moaned at the sharp sensations that ran straight to her cunt.

“I think he’s ready,” Wesley murmured. Charles was breathing hard and growling under his breath, words that Fred could not quite catch, but his tone made it clear he was ready to get this show on the road. Biting her lip to keep from giggling, Fred eased her fingers out of him and laid down flat on the bed, opening her arms to invite Charles to come to her. He did so, snagging a pillow from where it had fallen on the floor so that he could prop her hips up for comfort.

Once he had made sure she was settled and ready, he eased into her gently, sweetly, perfectly. She moaned as he stretched and filled her. He paused for a moment, letting her adjust to the intrusion, before moving his hips in a few shallow thrusts. Behind him, Wesley brought his hands to Charles’ sides, urging him to stop for a moment so that he could guide himself into Charles. The looks on her boys’ faces…. it was almost too much. She reached up to them as best as she could, caressing Charles’ face with one palm and brushing Wesley’s face with the fingertips of the other hand.

And then they were moving and she lost track of herself as Charles pumped into her, hands braced on either side of her body and he was kissing her kissing her kissing her with each thrust. Wes used one had to hold himself upright and one hand on Charles’ hip to keep them at the same pace, so she grabbed onto his forearms to have that connection because she felt like she would float away, lost, without it. Wesley’s hand on Charles abandoned its post to reach where Charles and Fred were connected, fingers stroking her clit with finesse. Fred cried out, hips bucking and throwing them all out of synch, but it was too late to care and they were too far gone. If this wasn’t heaven then she didn’t know what was and she didn’t want to know because there was just this this this.

Charles reached one hand back to Wesley’s thigh, holding onto him, keeping him close, and now they were just a precarious stack of limbs and longing. Fred was close, so close, and she let go, felt herself falling falling soaring deftly in their hands. Charles was whispering obscenities into her neck as he tumbled after her, faltering and beautiful.

Fred rolled out from under Gunn, careful not to hurt either of them as Charles’ cock slipped out of her. She knelt by their side, legs trembling and unsteady in a pleasant way as she reached one hand to tweak at Charles’ nipple gently (he wasn’t hypersensitive after an orgasm they way she was and enjoyed the extra touch) and used the other hand to rub at Wesley’s scalp. Wes threw his head back, coming at last, his lovers’ names ground past his lips.

They collapsed in a puddle together, nobody ready to get cleaned up just yet. After a few minutes, though, Wesley slipped out of bed to visit the bathroom. Fred waiting until he was back before doing the same, then Charles. They got as tidy and clean as they could while feeling about ready to drop on their faces and sleep for a few weeks. Charles took the middle of the bed and Fred curled up against his side. Wesley looked about ready to zoom out of there back to his own place, but after another jaw-cracking yawn he decided it wasn’t worth the hassle and possibility of a crash on his motorcycle. Fred reached an arm across Charles to rest her hand lightly on Wesley’s forearm, letting him know they were there without making him feel crowded. She wondered if he would ever let himself believe that this is where he belonged, or if it was something else that made him put so much distance between himself and the others. She hoped he would talk about it soon, if not for his own sake, then for the sake of their relationship.

*******************

The next morning came all too quickly, in Fred’s opinion. Wesley was already up and gone downstairs, leaving behind a token on his pillow to let Fred know he was still in the building so she wouldn’t panic (it was a signal they had arranged several weeks ago when it became apparent that Wesley’s disappearing act frightened her - he had a special lighter he had found on a case one day and really liked the design of, so he would place it carefully on his pillow where it wouldn’t roll off, and she would know where he was). Fred, Charles, and Lorne joined him with varying degrees of alertfulness. Cordelia and Angel were nowhere to be seen.

“What?” Lorne asked when he caught Fred and Charles smirking at each other. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Fred said in a singsong voice. “Only Angel and Cordelia having a bit of a late night last night.”

Lorne raised his eyebrows. “Oh good, that’s all we need: Angelus running around L.A.” he said, but he didn’t seem all that scared. In fact, he was smiling. Lorne had known about Angel’s feelings for almost as long as Fred had, and he was just as grateful that things had finally come out in the open.

Around noon, Angel came downstairs with Connor. He looked light and refreshed, happier than Fred had ever seen him before. He beamed at his friends as he wished them all good afternoon. He didn’t even notice the amused looks they exchanged.

“Where’s Cordelia?” he asked, trying (and failing) not to sound too eager.

The amusement turned to bewilderment. “Wasn’t she upstairs with you?” Wesley asked.

“Well, yeah, but then she came down a few hours ago I thought,” Angel said. “I heard her leave but I went back to sleep.” He blushed, realising what he’d said. “I mean, I - she - she was just checking on Connor and I-”

Wesley smiled, shaking his head at Angel’s backtracking. “We know you two spent the night together,” he said. “Congratulations.”

Angel let out a self-conscious laugh. “Oh. Okay. Thanks… I think.”

“We haven’t seen her all morning,” Lorne told him. “Maybe she went home to take a bath?”

“Maybe,” Angel said slowly, starting to frown.

Charles had gone over to her desk and was looking at her memo pad. “Hey, what does this mean?” he asked, holding it up.

“Oh,” Fred cried, remembering. “There was a message on the machine last night and she wrote down the details. I forgot. Maybe she went out to meet the client?”

“No, I know what that means,” Charles said. “I meant, what does this mean?” He pointed at a scribbled message on the bottom of the same page.

They all crowded around to look. In Cordelia’s crisp, neat handwriting read a simple note:

_Don’t try to follow me. I’m doing this for us._

Cordelia was gone.


	15. Gunn's Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pairings: Cordelia/Angel, Spike/Buffy, Fred/Gunn/Wesley   
> This chapter's rating: Teen  
> Warnings: None

The minute they realised what was going on, everyone jumped into action. Angel snatched up the nearest phone and began dialling numbers that they all knew would not be answered. Wesley parked himself at Cordelia’s desk and booted up her computer to see if she had left any clues in recent search histories. Connor, sensing his daddy’s anxiety, started wailing and could not be consoled no matter how much Lorne - who had taken him while Angel made call after call - bounced and coddled him. Which left Fred and Gunn to do the obvious: drive over to Cordy’s apartment and see if Dennis knew anything.

By the time they got there, though, it was clear that she was long gone and Dennis was the most agitated Gunn had ever seen him (so to speak). The instant Gunn and Fred walked through the door, it slammed shut behind them and there was a whirlwind of air around them. If he had a voice, he would be demanding to know what the fuck was going on just about now. Personally, Gunn was right there with him.

“Dennis,” Gunn said loudly and firmly, trying to get him to calm down. “I know you’re freaking out, man, but we need your help right now. She came back here, didn’t she?”

It was a simple yes or no answer, and the gang had long since devised a system for talking to Dennis where him raising Cordelia’s favourite unicorn figurine meant yes and rustling the fake flowers on her mantle meant no. But Gunn suddenly realised both the figuring and flowers were nowhere to be seen. Dennis expressed his frustration with being unable to answer directly by slamming the bedroom door three times in a row.

“Alright, alright,” Gunn said quickly. “Take it easy. We got this.” He picked up a half-used candle and a postcard a friend had sent her from Majorca, and set both on the floor in the middle of the living room. “Postcard means ‘no’ from now on, got it? Candle means ‘yes.’ Okay?”

The candle rose about a foot in the air and then lowered gently back down.

Gunn glanced at Fred, who nodded at him. “Did Cordy come back here this mornin’?” she asked. 

The candle rose again.

“Did she tell you anything about what happened last night?”

This time the postcard hovered for a few seconds before being returned to the ground.

Gunn left Fred to work with Dennis; her gentle understanding would hopefully soothe the ghost’s frazzled nerves (did ghosts even technically have nerves?), leaving Gunn to investigate and see if Cordelia had left behind any clues. He entered her bedroom and stopped short - the place was a wreck. There were clothes and knick knacks strewn over every surface, and several bottles had been knocked over and left as they were. Gunn got the feeling this wasn’t a symptom of Dennis’ frustration but had been the aftermath of whatever Cordelia had run in here to do. He pawed through the piles of fabric, trying to figure out what was missing. He sighed, realising he would never be able to tell, and that was exactly what Cordelia had been going for. She’d taken away Dennis’ typical means of communication and also made it more difficult for them to figure out what else she’d grabbed. This chaos wasn’t the result of hurried packing: it was deliberate and methodical and completely Cordelia.

Gunn went back into the living room, where Dennis was just finishing up with Fred’s most recent question. He waited for the postcard to finish it’s descent to the floor (“He says she didn’t seem upset, just determined,” Fred said) before asking, “Did she actually pack any clothes or just make it look like she did?”

Candle.

“Enough for a few days?” Realising a ‘no’ could mean either more or less than the ambiguous ‘few,’ Gunn added, “Candle means more, postcard means less. Three days?”

Candle.

“A week?”

Candle.

“Two weeks?” Where the hell was Cordy going to go for two weeks - if she even was leaving at all and this wasn’t just another ruse?

This time the postcard rose.

“More than a week less than two,” Fred mused. “Whatever she’s doing, she thinks it might take a while. Should we tell the others to check and see if Cordy put a plane or train ticket on her credit card?”

Gunn jumped as an invisible hand plucked his wallet out of his back pocket. The wallet opened of its own accord and a few crumpled bills came out. Gunn got the hint. “She used cash.” He held out his hand. “Now give that back ‘cause I don’t think your dead ass has any use for money.”

“Where would she get that much cash?” Fred asked, then answered her own question: “The money from the Nahdrah demons.”

“She’d still have to show her I.D., though, right?” Gunn said. “In order to buy a plane or bus ticket?”

“Maybe,” Fred said, though she sounded doubtful. “It’s been a long while since I flew anywhere.”

“I never have,” Gunn admitted. She would definitely need a passport if she was trying to leave the country, but if she were headed someone domestic? “Does she even have a passport?”

“Yeah. Her parents were rich, remember? She travelled all over the world as a kid,” Fred said. “She showed me her passport once and it was full of stamps. And she got it at sixteen so it’s still valid for five more years.”

“That’s good, then, right? If she has to show it at the airport, we could ask….” Even as he said it, he knew it was a long shot. First of all, it would require her to be travelling out of country, and they didn’t even know where she might go or why. Or what airline she’d be travelling on. Or even what airport - for all they knew, she could have taken a bus out of state to throw them off. She’d taken a lot of pains to cover her tracks so far.

“It’s still worth a try,” Fred said softly, reading his thoughts. “I’ll call Angel and tell him what we found out.”

“Tell them to check at any airport in a -” he glanced at his watch; assuming she got up around 6 AM and it was now pushing 1:30 - “six or seven hour radius. And see if any of the local bus or train stations check ID too, or if they’ve seen a woman matching Cordy’s description.”

“I’m sure they know, Charles,” Fred said, trying not to sound too sharp. “We’ve been doing this private investigator thing for a while now.”

Gunn opened his mouth to snap back, then closed it and counted to ten. They were all on edge right now, and starting fights with his loved ones wouldn’t help anyone. “Right. Sorry.”

Fred put her phone to her ear with one hand and rubbed his arm with the other. “It’s okay.”

As Fred spoke in a low voice with the others, Gunn went into the master bath to see what else had been taken. This, too, was a train wreck. It was like she had stuffed everything she needed (even less than the bare essentials since for Cordelia the bare essentials meant five different kinds of foundation) into her suitcase and then just thrown everything else around. Not so helpful for the people trying to track her down, but in an hour or so, once Dennis had calmed down, Gunn had a feeling he would be grateful for the project to keep himself busy.

Fred poked her head into the bathroom as Gunn was counting eyeliner pencils and wondering how the hell he would know if any were missing, or even if it did matter if they were. They needed a plan - right now they were running around like chickens with their heads cut off and nobody was thinking straight. Least of all Angel. But thing was: Cordelia had went and done something they’d never even fathomed. Angel might do his three-month disappearing trick or Wesley could hole himself away in his apartment for a few days if he lost himself in research. Gunn wasn’t exactly the most reliable person, for that matter, and Lorne was only incidentally part of the team. But Cordelia never left. She was their rock, their constant. The one they could all depend on to be there even when she felt like her head was being split open or the weight of all the hopelessness of L.A. was crushing down on her shoulders. She would always be ready and waiting with a smile (albeit a strained one) and smart quip. She knew every detail of every client they’d ever helped, knew where everything in the office was located, knew within a five-minute margin of error when each of her teammates would roll in the door or downstairs ready to fight the good fight. She kept them steady.

Until now.

“Hey,” Fred said softly. “We should head back. I’m not sure there’s anything else to be done here.”

Gunn dropped the pencils into a container by the sink. “They have any luck?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Fred shook her head. “No. Angel called Buffy to see if anyone there had heard from Cordelia, but no such luck. They’re still trying to see if they can pull anything off Cordelia’s computer but Wes isn’t as good with technology as Willow is.”

“We could stop by the bus depot and show her picture to the clerks there,” Gunn said.

Fred wrinkled her nose. “Can you see Cordy on a bus?”

“No,” Gunn said flatly. “But I also never would have imagined her up and ditching us like this neither. Every step so far she been doing her best to subvert us. So I’m thinkin’ maybe bus depot’s the first place she’d run to.”

Fred played with her lip as she considered this. Gunn was growing impatient again; the longer they dicked around, the further away Cordelia got. “It’s better than any other plan we have right now,” Fred said.

“Let’s roll,” Gunn said, following her to the front door. “Thanks for the help, Dennis,” he called over his shoulder. “We’ll keep you posted.”

Something whizzed by Gunn’s ear and crashed into the wall. It was Cordelia’s half-used candle. Fred stared at Gunn, shocked by Dennis’ display of temper, but Gunn merely picked up the candle and set it gently down on the nearest surface.

“I know, man,” he said to the seemingly empty room. “We all pretty much feeling the same way right now. I promise I will keep you in the loop. You have my word.”

It was hard to tell if Dennis believed him, but at the very least there were no more objects flying at his head, so Gunn figured that was a good sign.

\---

An hour later they were back at the Hyperion with no more information than they had left Cordelia’s apartment with. There were only three employees at the bus depot, and all three of them had been there all morning; none had seen Cordelia. They showed her picture to a few of the people waiting in the lobby, but no such luck.

“No results on our end either,” Wesley told them over the sound of Connor’s continued wailing (had the kid been doing that the whole time they were gone?). “Angel, will you please let someone else hold him for a while?”

“What about - what about, like, seeing if anyone has reported a woman having a violent seizure on any public transport?” Angel tried, ignoring the request and bouncing his son absentmindedly as he hovered over Wesley’s shoulder. “That’s what a vision would look like to a regular person.”

“I’ve already thought of that,” Wesley said with forced patience. “No results.”

“What about -”

Before he could make any further suggestions, however, the hotel’s front door burst open and ten people stormed inside, Buffy leading them with long, determined strides. The Hyperion’s residents stared at them, confused; even Connor quieted a little at the interruption.

“What are you guys doing here?” Angel asked. It was hard to tell which emotion was predominant in his voice: confusion, annoyance, or relief.

“You hung up on me,” Buffy accused, her eyes flashing. “Asked if I’d seen Cordelia and when I said not since last night, you hung up on me with no explanation. Lucky for you, when I called back it was Wesley who answered and he told me what was going on.” She stood with her feet planted firmly shoulder-width apart as if expect Angel to come rushing at her in attack. “We’re here to help.”

Gunn looked over the ragtag group. He’d never seen them all in action like this: from fierce, determined Buffy to fidgety, scared Andrew. When even the most vulnerable of them banded together, they could decimate any obstacle that stood in their way; that much was for certain. Gunn’s shoulders relaxed and he felt confident for the first time since reading Cordelia’s note - they were going to find her and bring her home.

“How did y’all even get here so fast?” he asked.

Willow answered, looking a little sheepish, “We used a few… tricks to make it so no one saw us speeding down the highway.”

“Along the shoulder at a hundred miles per hour the whole way,” Giles added.

“And keeping Xander’s car from collapsing halfway here,” Tara said quietly. Now that she drew attention to herself, Gunn realised she was sweating and looking a little green; same went for Jonathan. Fred ducked into Wesley’s office and retrieved two paper cups of water from the watercooler, which she handed to them.

“Shouldn’t you two be on your honeymoon?” Fred asked Xander and Anya.

“Giles was supposed to take us to the airport this afternoon,” Xander said quietly. “He called to let us know he wouldn’t be able to, and tried to get us to go anyway. Get a cab or something.” He shook his head. “No way could we leave while Cordy’s missing.”

“Of course she had to find a way to make our wedding all about her,” Anya groused, but Gunn could see her worry in the way she held herself.

“Wesley said she left of her own accord,” Buffy said. “Are we sure about that?”

“She left a note.” Wesley handed over the memo pad so the Scoobies could read the words at the bottom.

“‘Us?’” Willow asked. “What is she doing for ‘us’? And who even is the ‘us’? The team?”

Angel shifted uneasily. “I think she’s referring to, uh, to her and me,” he said, his voice nearly drowned out as Connor began wailing with renewed vigor. “I sort of… told her I love her?”

Spike growled. “For god’s sake put the tyke down before he ruptures a lung or summat. Gimme.” He moved to take Connor from Angel’s arms.

“Spike, no - stop,” Angel protested. There was a minor scuffling and Gunn was about ready to jump in himself lest the kid got hurt, when Spike broke away, Connor safely tucked into his arm. He bent himself over the baby, shielding him from Angel’s attempts to get him back.

“You told her what?” Buffy demanded, bringing the focus back to the matter at hand. “How exactly did you expect her to react?”

“Well I sure as hell didn’t expect her to run off like this.” He ran a hand through his hair and backed off from Spike, who straightened up and stuck a painted pinky into Connor’s mouth for him to suck on. Connor’s crying stopped for approximately three seconds before he jerked his mouth away and resumed sobbing at full volume.

“Maybe the note is fake,” Andrew put in. “Or maybe she was forced to write it under duress.”

Wesley frowned. “Are you suggesting someone went up to Angel’s bedroom, forced Cordelia to leave without waking Angel, made her write this note, and then took her back to her own apartment so that Dennis would see her pack up her stuff, and then took her off somewhere?”

“Well, it could have been a robotic Cordy sent here to fool us. Or maybe it was a replica Cordy - like, maybe aliens need her for a very important mission so they sent this replica to take her place like how the Changelings planted fake -”

Gunn reacted before he even had time to think. He saw the change in Angel’s face more on an instinctual level than a visual one. He just had time to throw an arm out to hold Angel back - not that one human, even one so strong as Gunn, would be able to stop a vampire on the attack, but higher thought wasn’t exactly taking precedence for anyone at this very moment. Fortunately Buffy and Spike also had quick enough reflexes to jump into action; Buffy also held Angel back while Spike used the hand not holding Connor to shove Andrew out of harm’s way. Andrew fell, landing hard on his side with a yelp.

“Attacking your friends isn’t going to bring Cordy back any faster,” Wesley admonished quietly.

“Crackpot theories based on stupid science fiction shows isn’t exactly helping either,” Angel snapped, focusing to bring his face back to normal. Buffy and Gunn released him slowly, cautiously. He wasn’t likely to lunge again, but he was definitely a ticking time bomb right now.

“The kid is coping in his own way, leave him be,” Spike snarled.

Jonathan helped Andrew to his feet. “Maybe Andrew can take Connor upstairs and try to get him to calm down with a story?” he suggested.

Spike passed the baby over to Andrew, who looked on the verge of tears himself. Once he left with Connor, the room fell into a strange, eerie silence.

Fred was the first to break it. “I don’t think she was abducted by aliens or anythin’ but it sure wouldn’t be the first time she fell into an alternate dimension.”

“But she packed first,” Gunn argued. “So it wouldn’t be so much she fell in as went there deliberately.”

“Why would Cordy go to an alternate dimension, though?” Xander asked. “That makes about as much sense as the alien theory.”

“We’re not thinking clearly,” Giles said, speaking up for the first time. He looked old - older than Gunn had ever seen him since the first few times they had met when Buffy was still dead. “We can spend all day debating where she might go, but that could be literally anywhere in this world or several others. We need to look at this from her point of view. You’re Cordelia and someone just told you he’s in love with you. Not just anyone, but a man for whom love is dangerous. You’re scared because you know what that man is capable of. What is your first response?”

“Put as much distance as possible between me and him,” Willow said, though she sounded uncertain.

“No,” Buffy said firmly. “That’s what Angel would do. Cordelia doesn’t run away.”

Angel stared at her, realisation dawning on his face. “No, she doesn’t. She goes straight to the source of the problem.”

“The problem is that you’re a vampire, though,” Jonathan said tentatively. “Not even the most powerful coven in the world could reverse that.”

Buffy shook her head, clearly on the same path as Angel. “The problem isn’t that he’s a vampire - his soul keeps that from being a big deal, usually. But if he loses that soul, we’ve got Angelus back.”

“But if there’s no chance of losing the soul, then there’s no more problem,” Angel finished.

“So Cordy ran away to keep you from being happy, just like Willow said?” Gunn said.

“No,” Angel exclaimed. “Don’t you see? She went to Romania to get Jenny’s people to lift the curse.”

“Oh, because that worked so well the last time we tried that,” Xander said.

“It wasn’t Cordelia doing the asking last time,” Wesley said wryly. “You’re absolutely sure about this?” he asked Angel.

Angel glanced at Buffy, who looked confident. “Ninety percent,” he said.

Xander shook his head. “I’m not convinced. A person doesn’t just wake up with this plan fully formed in her mind. ‘Angel loves me so I’m going to go to Romania to get his curse lifted’ sounds good, but she’d need some sort of plan. Does she even know what part of Romania to start looking in?”

“Oh,” Fred cried suddenly. “She had a plan! She’s been thinking about this for ages. Not - not the Angel-loves-her part, but that Angel could lose his soul from experiencing true happiness. She told me sometimes the way he looks at Connor she felt like she oughta be reachin’ for a stake right about then. She wasn’t convinced that ‘true happiness’ necessarily meant sex. But now that this is just one more factor to consider, maybe she finally decided to take action.”

“Like you think she had this in her back pocket the whole time?” Gunn asked. “Why not tell us directly? We could’ve helped.”

“Because this is Cordelia,” Angel groused. “She’s been getting really good at keeping secrets in the last two years.” He entered Wesley’s office and grabbed his coat from its usual hook. “But now we know where she’s heading, I can possibly get there before she does if I leave right away. Whatever airport she’s flying out of, she’s going to have to deal with flight schedules.”

“Why?” Gunn asked.

“Because airports -”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Gunn said. “I’m not stupid, I know what flight schedules are. I mean why stop her. If she succeeds, you’re free of the curse. If she doesn’t, no harm no foul.”

Angel shook his head, pulling his coat on. “There’s no guarantee of that. They might not take kindly to her asking them a favour, and these people are powerful enough to force a soul back into a vampire. I’m not willing to risk them hurting her.”

“And how you plannin’ on getting to the airport, onto a plane, and flying five thousand miles or whatever halfway across the world and never be exposed to the sun?” Gunn pressed. He knew Angel was pretty much terrible at planning once he got an idea in his head, but this was a new level of stupidity.

“I’ll figure it out, okay,” Angel snapped, pulling his hood over his head. “I’ll tell people I’ve got a skin condition or something.” Hands in coat pockets to protect them, and now he was as fully covered as he could get without putting a mask over his face.

“I’m going with you,” Buffy said.

“It’s going to be hard enough getting one last-minute ticket to Bucharest, let alone two,” Angel said. “I’m going to do this on my own.”

“Not a chance. Someone needs to keep you from doing anything stupid,” Buffy said. “Either I’m going with you or Wesley is.”

Angel glanced at Wesley, who was standing with his arms crossed, defiant. “Fine,” Angel said after a moment’s deliberation. “Buffy, you’re with me.” He looked around at the others. “Keep searching for her on this side of the ocean. She’ll have to show her passport to get out of the country. Once you know where she’s flying from, we can track what time she’ll land in Romania. Also look through her stuff and see if you can find the details she found out about where to find Jenny’s family, just in case we don’t get there in time to head her off. We’ll be in touch as often as we can. Can someone drive us to the airport?”

“I’ll do it,” Giles offered.

Spike drew Buffy aside as the others bid farewell and good luck to Angel. “They on-again?” Gunn asked Dawn in an undertone.

Dawn looked over at them. “Well he was there this morning when we woke up, so I’m thinking yeah.”

“Bummer about the date Spike brought to the wedding,” Gunn said. “She was hot. Unless she was there this morning too?”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “I don’t think Buffy’s as open-minded as you are.” Though her words were playful, Gunn could see the worry in her eyes.

He clapped a hand to her shoulder. “Angel and your sis are gonna bring Cordelia back in no time.”

Dawn smiled, albeit a little shakily. “I know.”

“If you’re done making out with Spike, I’d like to get going,” Angel said to Buffy, scowling his special Spike-induced scowl.

Buffy walked over to him. “You can’t comment on who I choose to make out with when you went and fell in love with Cordelia Chase.” Angel didn’t laugh. Buffy gave him a sympathetic look. “Sorry. I’ll try that joke again when we have her back safe and sound.”

There was a general hush as Buffy and Angel walked out the door with Giles. Gunn picked up the abandoned memo pad, tore off Cordelia’s message so he wouldn’t have to look at it, and read over the details of the message she had listened to last night.

After all, L.A.’s hopeless were still out there needing their help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap guys it's almost the end.


	16. Lorne's Chapter

Good evening to all you cool cats, and congratulations on making it this far. It’s been one helluva ride, hasn’t it? Babies, weddings, falling in love…. prophecies, demons, the ever-present threat of Angelus. The ups and downs of this roller coaster are enough to make anyone a little dizzy. Well, hold on to your seats, ladies, gentlemen, and all the rest of you wonderful people because things are about to get even bumpier.

It was only supposed to take a few days. Once we knew where Cordelia had gone, how difficult would it be for the World’s Champion and his butt-kicking bestie to fly out to Romania, track her down, and bring her home again? A week at the most, we figured. After three days of sleeping in strange beds at the hotel and borrowing clothes and living off of takeout, Anya was the first to return to Sunnydale with little Dawnie. Anya had to go reopen the Magic Box and Dawn had to go back to school. Willow started to give Anya grief for not staying until we at least heard more information, but hey now we all have our coping mechanisms, and Anya can’t help it that hers is a cash register. Personally, can’t say as I blame her. If Caritas were still open, I’d sure as hell be spending as much time there as possible.

Dawnie, on the other hand, was absolutely inconsolable.

“Angel and Buffy will contact us as soon as they can,” Giles assured her. “Anya will pick you up from school as soon as we hear anything.”

Dawn tried everything: reasoning, arguing, crying, yelling, but in the end she had no choice. Tara went too, to pick up supplies for everyone, returning with clothes, toothbrushes, and sundry items. As for us L.A. natives, well we just went about our lives like normal. What else could we do? With the Scoobies helping out, Angel Investigations was able to take on a lot more cases. It was nice to have the extra hands on deck and it kept us all occupied so we didn’t notice as the days gradually became a week and then two.

As bad as I felt for Dawn, I felt even worse for little Connor. He had no idea what was going on, only that the two most important people in his tiny world weren’t around anymore. He didn’t cry constantly, but pretty close to it. Giles and I took turns singing to him in hushed voices. Let me tell you, it takes a will of iron not to be soothed by that man’s mellifluous voice, but then again Connor is Angel’s son through and through.

Tensions throughout the hotel were at an all time high. Wesley spent more nights at his own apartment than he had in the last three months put together. Xander left after two days after Anya and Dawnie, returning to Sunnydale to be with them instead. Andrew and Jonathan bickered constantly. Even Tara turned snappish, though she apologised soon after. Spike dealt with his frustration by going out and beating up anything that moved. I can’t confirm it for certain, but I think he wasn’t limiting himself to demons, either. I think he was picking fights with humans just as often, regardless of the pain caused by the chip.

Basically, we were all one gigantic hot mess.  
And then - two full weeks after Angel and Buffy swept out the door like a pair of supernatural broomsticks - we got the call. Or, to be more specific, I did. I happened to be the nearest person to the phone, so I scooped it up with one hand while trying to rock Connor to sleep with the other.

“Angel Investigations, please hold,” I started to say but the voice on the other end interrupted before I could hit the button.

“Lorne? Don’t put me on hold. Is that Connor crying?”

“Angel?” I was so surprised I couldn’t even come up with a nickname. “Hold on a moment.” I pressed the mouthpiece to my shoulder, looking around to see who was nearby. “Giles, Angel is on the line! Can you take the baby?”

“Angel?” Giles repeated, shocked. He hurried over to take Connor. “At last. Has he any news?”

I gestured for him to be quiet so I could turn my full attention back to Angel. “He misses his daddy and mama and Auntie Buffy. Please tell me all three of them are coming home soon.”

Angel made a strange sound into the phone. “We’ve got her. We’re in New York right now, about to connect to L.A. and we’ll be home in a few hours.”

“I sense a big ‘but’ coming, and I don’t mean yours,” I said drily. I meant it to be funny, but Angel didn’t laugh.

“She’s… she’s not herself,” he said quietly. “I’ll explain more when we get there.” He sounded so exhausted, poor lamb. My heart broke for him.

“Should I give the others some sort of heads up?” I asked.

“I don’t know what to say at this point,” he admitted. “A lot has happened. But we’ve got her now and we’re bringing her where she belongs. Just don’t be surprised if she is a little… standoffish at first.”

Now that definitely caught my attention. Standoffish and Cordelia went about as well together as tequila and vodka: yeah the two could be mixed together, but you’d feel like shit afterwards. Angel and Cordy’s tiff a year ago proved that beyond a doubt. “I’ll warn them. Is she going to be okay?”

Angel took a moment before answer. “I hope so,” he said. Then, “Give Connor a big kiss from me and tell him we’ll see him soon.” He gave me their flight number so someone could meet them at the airport, then hung up.

“Well?” Giles asked quietly as I placed the handset back in the cradle.

I looked around. It was a rare instance where there weren’t any clients in the lobby: the only people present besides myself and Giles were Gunn, Andrew, and Tara. I smiled wide at them, laughing with relief that wasn’t entirely feigned. “They’re bringing Cordelia back to L.A. in a few hours. She’s a little jetlagged, so try to take it easy on her... but she’s coming home.”

I tried to say more, tried to warn them that something didn’t quite feel right, but they were already cheering and high fiving over the good news. Andrew practically jumped over the desk to get to the phone so he could be the one to call Sunnydale. Gunn and Tara disappeared to help spread the word to the people still here. I caught Giles’ eye and knew he’d seen that something was up. He followed me into the office, which Wesley had vacated a couple hours ago to visit the local prison and visit Faith on Angel’s behalf. I took Connor from him, planting a big kiss on his forehead and humming softly in that way I knew would quiet him, if not put him to sleep altogether.

“I take it things are not so simple as they appear?” Giles said.

“Yeah, but your guess is as good as mine as to why. Angel was his usual forthcoming self,” I said. “I didn’t want to get everyone’s panties in a twist without any additional information.”

“Yes, I quite agree.”

He wanted the kids to have their moment of celebration before whatever new development that has happened brought them back to reality. A nice sentiment, though I worried about the long-term ramifications when the truth - whatever it was - would come out.

Of course, we’re talking about the Scoobies here. Their idea of “taking it easy” on Cordelia involved no less than two impromptu welcome-home cakes, banners made from old sheets, spontaneously-crafted streamers and paper chains, and putting her favourite CD into the player so it would be ready to greet her when she came through the door. Dawnie, Anya, and Xander showed up after a couple of hours; the others who had been away on cases trickled back a few at a time and were welcomed with the good news. Everyone joined in making the decorations, though Andrew and Dawnie took the lead. At some point someone remembered to call Cordy’s home phone and leave a message for Dennis. Poor kid’s been out of his mind with worry. He’d want to be in on the welcome home celebration, and it hurt him that he was stuck with just this limited communication.

Although, in retrospect, maybe it’s a good thing he wasn’t around for her return.

So now we’ve got the stage set and the actors are moving to their marks. No matter what, the show must go on, right?

“Maybe we should get some champagne?” Fred asked. “Is it too late to go get some? Wouldn’t that be a nice way of saying we missed her and congratulations?”

“‘Less there’s nothin’ to congratulate,” Gunn pointed out. “Maybe things didn’t work out with the Gyp- I mean Romani,” he corrected himself at Fred’s pointed glare. She’d been correcting everyone for the last two weeks about proper use of the word “Romani” over “Gypsy” and talking at length about their lifestyle and culture in the modern world. This, from the girl who hails from The Racistest Place on Earth.

“Cordelia wouldn’t leave until she got what she wanted,” Xander said. “I bet that’s what took so long.”

“She could have been forced to leave, though,” Jonathan said, worried. He had a bit of red paint - at least I hoped it was paint - smeared across his nose, giving him a vulnerable, childlike appearance.

“Any way you slice it, the only thing that matters is we got our Cordy back whole and safe, from the sounds of things,” I said.

Okay, so I’m an idiot. What are you, perfect?

“They’re here!” Willow cried from the window, where she had been keeping watch. The sun was nearing the horizon at this point, casting long shadows that created a safe path for Angel to walk from the car to the front door. Willow bounded down the steps to stand with us as we lingered at various points in the lobby, ready to greet our friend.

Angel walked in first, looking even worse than his voice had suggested. He held the door open for Buffy, who ushered Cordelia inside, while Giles (who had been the one to pick them up from the airport) brought up the rear. In spite of the dwindling daylight, Cordy wore sunglasses that hid her eyes and kept her at a distance. She tensed when she saw us, took in the decorations and multitude of people. Lingered on the baby cradled in Wesley’s arms. Visibly swallowed when she saw me. We’d planned on shouting “Welcome home” the moment she stepped through the door, but the cry died on our lips as gracefully as Juliet with her dagger.

Andrew was the first to break out of inertia. He ran forward and threw himself at Cordelia, nearly knocking her backwards. Cordelia, caught off guard, raised her hands as if not sure what to do - or if she was being attacked. Angel stepped forward to help, but Cordelia shied away from him as best she could with an Andrew-shaped limpet attached to her side. Buffy pried him off as gently as she could. “Andrew, let go.”

“But-” Andrew started to protest.

Buffy continued, overriding Andrew, “Cordelia’s had a long journey and probably just wants to go to bed.”

“I’m not sure I can sleep here,” Cordelia said. She looked down at us all again, bewildered and alarmed. “Don’t I have a place of my own?”

“Trust me, once you’re upstairs you’ll never even know anyone else is here,” Buffy assured her.

“I’ll show you to your room,” Angel said, reaching out a hand to her, but she took a step back, nearly running into Buffy.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” she said quietly. I looked at Giles, searching for answers in his tense face. This was a Cordelia I’d never seen before: not only aloof, but reserved as well. This wasn’t happy Cordy amongst friends or Queen C from high school or even touchy, post-vision Cordelia who snapped at her friends because of the pain. It was like someone had sucked every ounce of her personality out of her heart with an industrial-strength vacuum and left only this wary, detached stranger in her place.

Buffy nudged her gently, grabbing the handle of Cordelia’s suitcase, which Giles had brought in. “Come on, I’ll take you up.”

Cordelia did not say anything to the rest of us, just followed Buffy upstairs, saying as she went, “I feel like I could use the world’s longest bath.”

For that brief moment, she almost sounded like herself again.

Giles descended the steps to the lobby floor. “You look like a man who could use a drink,” I said to him. Angel lingered in the front doorway, watching Cordelia and Buffy’s progress until they were out of sight.

Giles smiled wryly. “That is very much an understatement. I was massively unprepared for that.”

“Angel,” Wesley said, stepping forward to hand Connor to him. The apprehension that had clouded Angel’s face disappeared for a moment when he saw his son. “What happened to Cordelia? Did she succeed?”

The clouds descended again, this time bringing lighting into the mix. “Oh, she succeeded alright. The curse is gone and I’m free to no longer be plagued by my soul without chance of losing it.”

“But?” Xander prompted.

Angel ran a hand through his hair, coming down the stairs into the lobby. “She doesn’t remember us. They demanded she pay a price in order to have the curse lifted, and she told them she didn’t care what they took. They could have killed her,” he spat suddenly, clutching Connor to his chest.

“But they didn’t,” I reminded him. “They only took her memories. Right?”

Angel relaxed his grip slightly - only slightly. “Yeah. But all of them. She doesn’t remember any of us, or where she grew up or - or who she went to school with or any of it. She doesn’t remember her parents. She knows facts and stuff, like she can point to L.A. on a map, but anything that has a personal connection for her has been wiped out of her mind. She knows there is a town north of L.A. called Sunnydale but it doesn’t mean anything more to her than, I don’t know… Bumfuck, Nebraska.”

“Okay, hand me the baby if you’re going to be using your pottymouth,” I said, stepping forward to take Connor.

Angel held out a hand to stop me. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to, I’m just…” He sighed, looking down at his son. “I think I’m going to go to bed too. It’s been a long fortnight.”

“That’s it?” Xander demanded. “‘I’m tired and going to bed - by the way Cordy lost her memories and doesn’t trust any of you, good night’?”

“She didn’t _lose_ her memories,” Angel snapped. “She traded them away willingly for my sake. She’s always -” He stopped before he could finish that thought, tamping down on his anger before it made him say something he would regret later.

“She didn’t do it just for you,” Giles reminded him quietly, sternly. “You’re not the only one who stands to lose something if Angelus returns.”

“Whoever she did it for, doesn’t matter. She shouldn’t have done it at all,” Angel said.

“Perhaps not,” Wesley allowed. “But she did. We can’t change that now. We just have to figure out how to proceed from here.”

Angel looked us over one by one, but nobody else ventured an opinion. We were mostly all still in shock, I think. “I’m going to bed,” he repeated at last. This time no one stopped him.

I followed discreetly after a few moments. Angel knew - could feel me with his enhanced vampire senses, but he didn’t say anything until he reached his room and opened the door. “I don’t want to talk right now, Lorne.”

“Tough toenails,” I said. “It’s about time someone taught you it’s not always about what you want.”

“I think I’ve learned that lesson just fine these last two weeks,” he said.

“Good. Then you won’t mind a little bit of reinforcement,” I countered. I waited patiently; where Cordelia - the Cordelia I knew and loved - or Gunn might have just barged in, I wanted Angel to open up to me. Pushy will only get you so far.

And sure enough after a moment of defiance, Angel sighed and opened his door wider so that I could enter. The room bore the detritus of our taking care of Connor; rather than move the crib into someone else’s room, we had taken turns sleeping in Angel’s bed. Fortunately, between all the decorating, Fred had had the presence of mind to change the sheets and make the bed so that it was all neat and ready for what we had assumed would be two people’s use. Still, she might have thought to clean up all the trash and baby clothes strewn about the room while she was at it.

“Alright, kiddo,” I said. “Talk to me.”

Angel paced with Connor in his arms for a minute. I thought after all this, he might not talk after all. But then he said, the pain causing his voice to catch, “She’s scared of me.”

I didn’t have a jaunty quip for that - even if I had, I wouldn’t have said it. I merely looked at him impassively, waiting for him to continue.

“They told her what I am when we got there - to the caravan they were housing her in. We were too late to head her off at the airport, and we only vaguely knew where she had gone, thanks to Wesley. It took us a full week to catch up to her, and by that time it was too late.”

“She’d already gotten the curse lifted,” I supplied.

“Traded my peace of mind for hers,” he said. I was impressed with the phrasing; who knew Spike wasn’t the only poet in our midst. He continued, “They… they told us we were free to take her home but on the condition that she came with us willingly. She was asleep at the time - it was night, of course, because of me. They woke her up and told her that a vampire and a vampire-lover wanted to take her away from the safety of their home - if that caravan could even be called a home. The instant she heard ‘vampire’ she grabbed the nearest cross and told us to get out before she staked us both. The whole room was filled with crosses, hanging on every wall.

“So we got out. Came back the next night at sundown. This time she heard us out for a full two minutes before threatening to stake just me. Asked Buffy what she was doing hanging out with a vampire. Buffy tried to explain: I had a soul, thanks to the very people Cordelia was living with, and because of that soul I was trying to make up for all the bad stuff I did without one. Cordelia listened, but she was too scared. She was running on pure instinct, and her instinct was telling her that I was dangerous.”

Angel took a deep, unnecessary breath. “We came back the next night and the next. Each time she let us stay longer, mostly because of Buffy. No, entirely because of Buffy. If it had just been me, she probably would have staked me and that would have been the end of it. But Buffy talked to her about home and Cordelia’s friends - left out a few details for simplicity’s sake -”

“Like the fact that Dennis has been dead for 60 years and I’m a little bit on the colourful side?” I interjected.

Angel smiled wryly. “Yeah, like that. She talked about L.A. and shopping and Sunnydale High School and Xander and Willow and cheerleading. Stayed away from anything even vaguely resembling the supernatural. She told Cordelia that she’d moved to L.A. to become an actress and had been picked to star in a national commercial. That caught Cordy’s attention. She opened up a little, started interacting with us rather than just glaring at us until we left. Eventually we were able to arrange a flight home, though it took some convincing to get inside an enclosed metal tube with me. The Romani let her go without any protest - which sort of makes me wonder what they’re thinking is going to happen.”

“But she’s home now,” I said. “So we can stop worrying about what may or may not happen, or what did happen, and focus on the here and now: and that means getting Cordy’s memories back.”

He looked at me, hopeful for the first time since he walked through the front door. “You think it’s possible?”

I held up a cautioning hand. “I don’t want to make any guarantees. Magic and the human brain are a tricky combination, and hardly my area of expertise. But if anyone can come through, you know it’s going to be our crack team of witches and warlocks. And I may have one or two outside sources I can consult.”

“I don’t want to do anything that could cause her more damage,” he said.

“Nor do we, sweetie,” I assured him. “Don’t forget we love her just as much as you do - maybe not in the same way, but we’re not going to hurt her intentionally.”

He hesitated, then said, “There’s one more thing. The sorceress who lifted the curse and took Cordelia’s memories… she found out about the visions. It’d be impossible to poke around in Cordy’s head and not find out, I suppose. But she figured out that they’re killing Cordelia, so she took some measures to make sure Cordelia will be around a long time to feel her sacrifice.”

“How do you mean?” I asked, feeling dread surge within me.

“She invoked the protection of the Hindu deity Kali on Cordelia’s behalf. Goddess of empowerment. Also of time, change, and destruction. Who knows which way it’ll ultimately swing. Personally, I’m not really feeling any sort of warm-and-fuzzies for deities of any religion right now. The sorceress didn’t tell Cordy about any of this, but she told Buffy and me right before we left.” He shook his head, bemused “I have no idea why she did that. The only explanation I can come up with is that she doesn’t want me to have the pain of Cordelia not remembering me cut short by death.”

Was he right about that? We may never know. But in my opinion, this was good news. Goddess protection to strengthen her body and mind against the visions would also strengthen her for whatever sorcery we might need to use to get her back. I didn’t say anything to Angel at that point, though - I knew he wouldn’t see the positive side of things until Cordelia was safe and whole again, and even then he’d probably be fussing his fluffy little head off. “We’ll figure something out,” I told him. The words were hollow and meaningless, but my mind was already zooming in a hundred different directions, picking through connections that might be useful. “You should get some sleep.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he agreed, staring at his bed as if it had become something alien in the last two weeks. I left him to figure out how to get back into a normal routine and made my way back downstairs.

I expected chaos - this crew was never exactly one for calm when the you-know-what hits the fan. Instead I walked into what felt like a wake. People sat on every available surface, looking stricken. I half-expected to see Cordelia laid out in a casket in the corner, that’s how upset everyone looked. Poor Andrew was particularly distraught; Cordelia’s rejection of his welcome home hug had hit him hard.

“Why so glum, chums?” I asked, trying for upbeat and optimistic. “We’ve got Cordy back. Maybe not quite as whole as we expected, but she’s healthy and - hey, good news that Angel just told me: the Romani sorceress threw in a little bonus by making it so the visions aren’t killing her anymore.” I didn’t elaborate beyond that; unless there were any unavoidable side effects, there was no need for everyone to know the details about that particular miracle. “Tomorrow we start the research marathon into memory charms and before you can say abracadabra, we’ll all be our old selves again.”

Xander looked like he might say something spiteful, but what was there left to say at this point? Whether or not Cordelia did the right thing didn’t matter - she did what she felt she needed to, and now we had to work with the consequences. Consequences that could have been a lot worse, I might add.

In ones and twos, the others drifted off to bed. Wesley and Jonathan began pulling books they thought might be of use, setting them aside to begin browsing in the morning. I tried to keep the mood light, but it was like talking to a whole series of brick walls. Worse, even, because at least you can lean against a brick wall and know it’ll support you. Not that I’m saying anyone there was being intentionally unsupportive of me - it’s just that they tend to get so wrapped up in their own pain and grief they don’t realise when someone is reaching out as a result of the same.

What can I say? Humour is my cash register.

I’ll spare you the details of the following ten days. We split up into two teams: those taking on cases and those researching Cordelia’s current situation. I’ll give you three guesses which team Angel chose. Cordelia herself tried to be as helpful as possible, but it was obvious that Angel and I both made her uncomfortable. She answered Wesley’s probing questions as he tried to determine exactly what the sorceress had done to take her memories; if one method was used and they tried to undo it using a different method, not only would it have no effect, but could possibly incur brain damage. 

“If the memories were removed and placed in a magical containment device, we may not be able to retrieve them without having the device in hand,” Wesley explained. “If the memories were simply blanketed over or locked away within Cordelia mind, they’ll be easier to uncover, but the invasion into her brain would have to be more severe. If the sorceress simply destroyed the parts of the brain that were storing those memories, they’re gone forever with no hope of getting them back. The good news is, Cordelia seems to be able to form new long-term memories, so I don’t think that last option is what happened.”

Cordelia listened to all of this with her arms crossed and a look that was halfway between disbelief and awe. Each time we saw her, she was a little more herself. Being back at the hotel and among familiar faces and things did wonders for her state of mind. Even if it didn’t feel familiar to her in ways she recognised, she admitted to a deeply instinctual sense of rightness and belonging at the hotel.

Wesley, Jonathan, and Giles had their books. I had my outside sources to consult. Dawn’s school entered Spring Break, giving her freedom to stay and help as much as she could. She read textbook after textbook on the human brain and its functions, systems, structures, and psychology.

Meanwhile Team Beat-Up-Anything-That-Moved consisted of Angel, Buffy, Gunn, Spike, and occasionally Xander. Anya drove back and forth between Sunnydale every other day, keeping the shop open as much as she could. It was lonely for her, being the only one holding onto her obligation back home, and the fighting between her and Xander got worse during that week. Tensions were already high, and their snappishness made things worse.

But then suddenly - miraculously - we had a breakthrough. Between Tara’s careful magical probing of Cordelia’s mind, and Wes’ verbal, they were able to determine that the memories were still there, but locked behind a strong mystical wall. We could break through it, yes, but it would take a spell with a balance of power and finesse to do so without hurting Cordy further.

Easy peasy, right? Hah.

So we came up with a plan: our five little witches and warlocks would work in conjunction, each one contributing a specialty. Willow had the power, Tara the finesse, Jonathan the healing, Wesley the artistry, and Giles the experience. We also needed someone who knew Cordelia through and through, which was a matter of some debate. Willow and Xander had known her longest, but Buffy was the most similar to her in personality. Fred brought up the possibility of bringing Dennis into the mix, as someone who had seen Cordelia at her highest and lowest points. Now me, I have no idea why there was any room for debate; Angel may not have known her the longest or been her most consistent friend, but there was no one on earth who loved her more than him. And I wholeheartedly believe that the power of love should never be underestimated (thank you, Huey Lewis).

“Excuse me, do I get a say in all this?” Cordelia demanded once the arguments began repeating themselves.

We all exchanged sheepish glances. We’d been sitting around the lobby, discussing the matter right in front of her without any regard for her own opinion.

“Forgive me, Cordelia,” Giles said diplomatically, “but I’m not sure you’d be the best to judge this matter, given your current state of mind.”

“Bullshit,” she said. “I want to have a say in whether or not a vampire goes poking around in my mind. And I don’t even know who this ‘Dennis’ guy is!”

“He’s your roommate,” Fred supplied hesitantly. We’d been holding off on that little bombshell for a while; somehow we weren’t sure that “surprise, your roommate is dead and invisible” would go over all too well.

“Well, why the hell isn’t he here?” Cordelia demanded. “If he cares about me so much, he would be here too, right?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Wesley started to say, but Cordelia walked into his office and shut the door, cutting us off. We were left standing or sitting around the lobby, trying to figure out what to do next. Cordelia was frustrated and scared, and I think we all understood that to some extent.

“Should I go after her?” Angel asked quietly. “Connor’s in there and he’s going to need his bottle soon.”

“Do you really think you’re the person she wants to see right now?” Xander snapped.

“Okay, okay,” I interjected before any fresh resentment could be unearthed. “Everybody just wait here. Get started on the sigil; I’m going to try to talk to her.” Easier said than done, of course; I probably wasn’t much better a choice than Angel what with the whole green-and-horned thing working against me. “If you hear a loud thump, that’s probably just her cutting my head off, no big deal. In fact, who knows - it might even trigger a memory,” I joked.

I knocked softly on the door and let myself in without waiting for an answer. Cordelia was walking in circles around the office, Connor on her hip as she murmured to him in a low voice. She glanced at me, then looked away, not once breaking stride.

“How’re you doing, honey?” I asked her softly.

She didn’t answer for a moment, and I thought maybe she would ignore me until I went away. But then she shifted Connor higher on her hip and looked at me squarely, tamping down on her emotions. “I’m scared,” she admitted. “I’m scared they won’t be able to get my memories back, but I’m also scared of what might happen if they do. I’m scared of what I feel when I hold this baby. I know he’s not mine, but when I look at him, I feel like I would tear down the whole world to protect him.”

“He is yours,” I told her. “Maybe you didn’t give birth to him, but he is yours.”

She bit her lip. “And his father….”

“Angel,” I supplied.

“Angel,” she repeated. It sounded so foreign on her lips; it lacked the depth of emotion it usually held when she said it, when she was truly herself. All the passion and admiration and frustration and love he engendered in her packed into one five-letter word - all of that gone now. I wanted nothing more at that moment to get it back.

“Does he really… is he the one who is going to be the guide for my memories?” she continued. “Tara told me that I dated Xander for over a year, and he’s known me since kindergarten. Seems like the perfect candidate to me.”

“I can’t claim to know all the details of your relationship with Xander,” I said, “but I know what he feels about you now: he loves you as a friend and admires the person you’ve become, and he enjoys poking at you in good humour. Basically, the same way most of us feel about you, with his own Xander twist. The things Angel feels for you are completely unique and more powerful than anything any of the rest of us could supply.”

Cordelia cocked her head at me, not quite convinced. “And why should I trust you?”

“You can trust me or not,” I said. “But you should definitely trust yourself. Even scared and amnesiac, your instincts are guiding you. You know I read auras, and I’ve read yours, pumpkin. You want to run to him just as much as you want to run away from him.”

She looked away. Knew what I said was true; I’d sensed it in the snippets of lullabies I’d heard her sing to Connor before she remembered what she’d been told about my talents. “Okay,” she said at last. “Okay, he can be the one to do it. Do you really think this will work?”

I wished I could have lied and said I was certain everything would turn out okay. “You’ve got the best mojo in the whole country working for you, wanting you to get better. I think, hope, believe that you couldn’t have assembled a better team if you tried. And I’ll be there too, chaperoning this dance.”

“Oh gee, now I feel better,” Cordelia muttered. I chose to ignore that.

“Ready to show these movers and shakers what Cordelia Chase is all about?” I asked her.

Still she hesitated. “He’s going to see everything? All of my memories and… everything?”

I nodded. “Yes. That’s why it has to be someone you trust unconditionally, and someone who loves you enough to stick through it.”

She squared her shoulders, put on her game face. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

I opened the office door and led the way back into the lobby. The others had started setting up the spell in our absence. Giles was just putting the finishing touches on the sigil he and Tara had painted on the floor. Five points for the five mages surrounding a big ol’ circle in the middle where Angel and Cordelia would sit. I would walk in a circle behind the witches, helping with the incantation and under strict instructions to break the spell if anything appeared to be going wrong.

“We are just about ready if you are,” Wesley told Cordelia.

She nodded apprehensively, unable to take her eyes off the pattern on the floor. “I’m ready. And I want Angel to be the one, who… you know.”

Giles stood up carefully, his knees creaking and back popping. “Everyone take your places. Jonathan, I think you should sit directly behind Cordelia. Willow, you’re over here, and Tara you’re next to her.”

Angel looked at Cordelia like he wanted to say something. Good luck, maybe, or give her one last chance to back out or choose someone else to be her guide. Tell her that no matter what happens, he loves her and that’s what’s important.

Of course, this being Angel, he didn’t say any of that. “Here, let me take him.”

Cordelia kissed Connor’s round baby face before handing him over and taking her own spot in the middle of the sigil. Angel held onto his son - for strength, for reassurance - briefly before giving him to Dawnie. The people not directly involved in the spell would be watching from a safe distance as we worked. I had warned them it could take hours (21 years’ worth of memories is a lot to uncover in one go), but they all insisted on being present for the whole thing - even twitchy little Andrew. I admired their dedication, but was worried about the practicality of having to concentrate on such a difficult spell while Connor fussed or Dawn and Andrew whispered in the background.

Angel took his seat in the center, facing Cordelia. Both sat with their legs crossed, knees touching each other’s. I stepped up behind Willow, who would be taking the lead at first. She would swoop in to break through the protections the Romani sorceress had placed over her spell. Tara would be close behind her to help direct her energy and rein her back from going overboard. Once they were finished with their part, they would step down and let Jonathan take the lead, healing Cordelia’s mind and helping bring forth the buried memories. And then that’s where Angel would come in. His role was both the most passive and the most important: he had to guide Cordelia’s memories, keep them dammed up and release them a little at a time to prevent her from being overwhelmed. Best case scenario, her concentration would be shot and she’d get thrown out of the spell without her memories, and there would be no second chances. Worst case scenario, her mind would be destroyed entirely.

So, you know, no pressure or anything.

One by one each participant gave me the signal that they were ready to start. Cordelia was the last to look up at me and give me the okay. I began the incantation, and each of the five in the circle joined in.

I’ll spare you the details of what came next; you aren’t here to be lectured about memory spells or hear about seven people sitting in a sigil for three hours while another person walked around behind them. You want to know if it worked. You want to know if Angel was able to guide Cordelia into returning to us safely, and then the two of them lived happily ever after.

I’m here to tell you that the answer is yes.

And no.

About half an hour into the session, Andrew began to fidget; fifteen minutes later Connor started doing the same, so Andrew disappeared with him down the hall that led to the kitchen, returning periodically to see if we were still at it. The others stuck around, bless them. We got through the first part without any problems. The second part….

Well.

Angel and Jonathan both performed admirably. And Cordelia sat through it all with perfect equanimity. Can you imagine reliving your whole life while your best friend holds your hand and relives it with you? That’s what she had to endure. Her distant parents, the loneliness of popularity, friends disappearing courtesy of the Hellmouth, some reappearing changed and dangerous. Watching teachers die, finding love and losing it with a rebar to the gut, losing her parents to their own greed. Not being able to go to college, moving to L.A. and feeling displaced - finding friends only to lose them again at separate times in different ways.

But also this: being respected and admired by friends, finding a new family, finding a place to belong. The delight of English Lit, the heart-pumping thrill of dancing at The Bronze. Helping the helpless. Names pouring in thick now, each one a thousand memories of wonder and happiness: Xander, Willow, Anya, Spike, Andrew, Giles, Lorne, Tara, Gunn, Buffy, Jonathan, Dawn, Fred, Wesley, Doyle, Dennis…

Connor.

And Angel.

Three and a half hours total - that is how long it took to rebuild Cordelia’s entire life. It was an amazing thing to watch as Angel and Cordelia sat in the center of that circle, eyes closed, protected by friends on all sides, feeling each emotion associated with the memories they called forth. One moment they were smiling, the next tears streaming silently down their faces.

And then at last - at long last - Cordelia and Angel opened their eyes, released each other’s hands, and relaxed stiff muscles, and we knew it was over. I sat down on the nearest couch, my legs wobbly and complaining; the mages stood up, aided by the bystanders, and shook out their cramped bodies. At the center of the circle, Angel helped Cordelia to her feet. She looked around at all of our grinning, expectant faces - 

and promptly ran for the front door, leaving before any of us could understand what just happened.

“Didn’t it work?” Buffy asked.

“It did,” Angel replied, his voice gruffer than usual. Without saying another word, he took Connor from Xander, who had been holding him, and disappeared upstairs to his own room.

“But I made brownies and cookies,” Andrew whined to no one in particular. “And dinner. Why is everyone leaving?”

“Food sounds like a good idea right about now,” Wesley said wearily.

“I imagine Cordelia and Angel are both feeling quite overwhelmed,” Giles said. “Give them time to process everything, and they should be okay.” He sounded convincing enough, but I saw the worry in his eyes.

I thought it might take two or three days for them to feel comfortable enough in their own skins to face the group again. Angel sought refuge in his son, while Cordelia had Dennis. I could only imagine what they were feeling right about then, but I figured it must be a raw sort of wound that needed time to heal before they could be around each other again. Time and space to process what this new development would mean for each of them. Hell, three days seemed optimistic, really. A month would be more likely.

So imagine my surprise when I was passing through the lobby on my way to bed the next night and found Cordelia letting herself in through the front door.

“You’re back,” I said, the surprise evident in my voice.

She smiled self-consciously. “I couldn’t stay away any longer. I missed this place. I missed _knowing_ this place.”

“How’s Dennis doing?” I asked.

“He’s okay,” she said. “Terrified to let me leave the apartment, like, ever.”

“I can’t really blame him,” I said. “I’d be the same in his ethereal shoes.”

We were both quiet for a moment. What was there to say? She was back and things would be different because they couldn’t not be. Not with Angel’s curse lifted and… and what? The future held all sorts of terrifying, wonderful possibilities for them. The question was, would they take the risks?

“What was it like?” I asked suddenly because Cordelia didn’t seem to be in any special rush to leave and go up to Angel’s room. “The spell…. the connection? What was…?” I didn’t know how to finish my thought.

She thought about it carefully. “It was intense. It was…” She fell silent again, struggling with the words. “‘Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.’”

“That’s poetic,” I said. “What does it mean?”

She lowered her eyes. “It means exactly what it sounds like.” There was a small sound on the stairs, causing us both to look up and see Angel standing at the top of the steps looking down at us. Expectant and hopeful. “Goodnight, Lorne,” Cordelia said, eyes on him only.

Everything was beautiful and nothing hurt…. It’s from a book about war. It… well, let’s just say I looked into it later and while I’m still not sure if I understand it entirely, I do know that Cordelia wasn’t being entirely truthful with me that night. But that’s okay.

So there you have it, folks. I won’t say this is “The End” because it’s not - not by a long shot. But it is the end of my tale, and I hope it wasn’t terribly boring. Don’t forget to leave kudos where kudos is due and tip your waitresses with filthy abandon. There’s nothing worse in this world than a stingy tipper, let me tell you. May you all find the peace and happiness in this world that you deserve.

Goodnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, you may have noticed some plot points that were left unresolved (such as Dawn's feeling that Warren would be coming back). Surprisingly enough, I had a Part II planned of this monstrosity but.... well, I don't have any plans to write it at this particular time. Spike was going to get his soul back, Warren was going to be dealt with, The First, the rise of the Potentials, etc. etc. Needless to say, I'd be looking at another 70k at least, but I didn't have enough _vision_ for it so for now this will be the end of this story, other than the outtakes.
> 
> Also, if you made it this far, please comment to let me know what you thought! This chapter had my beta nearly in tears, which is a huge compliment.
> 
> Speaking of my beta, everyone should go read KiranInBlue's amazing fic Daybreak. It is _so good_ I can't even stress enough.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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